Through The Ages
by Tai Greywing
Summary: An AU 'what if...' Doomsday? Never heard of it. Alternate ending to 'GitFireplace', spoilers. Tenth Doctor. No Rose, no TARDIS, no way out. A story of the slow path, oh and a horse. Whoever said Time was linear? It all depends on your point of view...
1. The Choice that wasn't

_A/N What if the fireplace couldn't be fixed? How would the Doctor get back to the 51st century when he doesn't have the TARDIS or any other means of transport? Ok, apart from a very opinionated horse._

_First chapter is 1st person from the Doctor's POV, but I don't think they rest will be, if I post more._

_Disclaimer: Don't own Doctor Who, otherwise this would've been several episodes worth of story after 'The Girl in the Fireplace'._

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**Through The Ages**

**1 – The Choice that Wasn't**

I didn't have a choice.

Not really. I mean, my options were clearly defined: on one hand I could leap through the mirror and save the timeline, even though it meant that I would theoretically trap myself in the 18th century. Or, I could sit and do nothing, staying safe on the ship with the TARDIS and Rose. And Mickey. But the events, the backlash through time would still catch up to us. We wouldn't be able to escape the consequences if someone didn't stop it at the source.

Someone. Who else is there? Who else is there _now_? No one, so it came to me, as it always seems to.

Even before Rose suggested just going straight through the mirror, I had it in my mind, I _knew_ that that was my only option. I only delayed because I didn't particularly wish to leave my pair of apes behind. I mean, of course with time at my disposal I didn't have to leave them for any time at all, even if I'd spent three millennia away.

Time is relative, that's what I tell myself. I'm not abandoning them, because I'll be back in no time for them. Several ages for me.

But if I'm entirely truthful with myself, I'll admit that those noble, pure reasons weren't the only ones that caused me to make possibly the flashiest entrance of my existence. Certainly for this regeneration. It was her, Madame de Pompadour. She'd been so calm whenever I appeared. Casually accepting the way I materialised in her room, even when she was barely seven years old. She accepted me for what I was and grew to love me, if that was what the almost desperate lunge meant.

She accepted who I was, even when she walked through my mind. I won't pretend to say that she understood more then 5 percent of what she saw, but what she did she accepted. I don't really get how she found her way in there in the first place. I mean I get the principle, you create a bridge between the two minds and it's possible to go both ways on it, but for an 18th century women to instinctively grasp the possibility and act on it. She's something special. I see it, even history saw it, calling her the unofficial Queen of France at the time.

I can't deny that she's coming to mean something to me. But that's the problem, I can't get too attached. I couldn't anyway, when I knew her future. It'll be that much harder now, having to watch her die. The hardest is keeping the knowledge from her that she only has 6 more years to live.

Mortals, they wither and they die. Never have I truly felt the weight of immortality (or virtual immortality) more then when I watch them fade.

Yet I will watch, for it is by my choice that I am here, now, at this time. Not that it was much of a choice, but still I made it. I don't think that Rose truly believed that I would leave her, not until the last possible second.

I'd realised that it was the only thing to do, no other options, no second chances if I screwed this up. I had to leave, I had no more time. Ironic, a Timelord with no time to explain, no time to find another path. Arthur was willing, I think he knew just what we had to do and more, why. That horse is uncannily intelligent. I gave the panel I was standing next to one last thump, out of habit, and swung myself up onto the white horse's back. Even then she didn't get it, but I think Mickey did. I saw his eyes widen and a half-formed protest on his tongue before he realised what I'd known all along.

There was no other way. There was no more time to _find_ this elusive 'other way'. I hope he explained to Rose. Because then I was gone, with only time to clamp my legs to Arthur's sides as he launched himself from almost a standing start straight at the glass. I didn't even cue him, the animal knew we had to be gone.

As we sailed through the mirror, shards of glass bursting around us I felt the connection sever. We thumped into 1758 and I felt the shock of the temporal link breaking. And not just where I'd jumped through, every single last tie to the future ship was broken, gone in an instant. The mirror, the tapestry, the sliding wall, various others that I hadn't even known about were gone in that same moment. The only one I didn't feel surprised me, and gave me a glimmer of hope, even as I sat back to slow Arthur down.

I hadn't felt the fireplace's link break. In fact I couldn't feel it at all, but I hadn't felt it snap and that gave me a tiny spark that maybe I wasn't trapped. The spark was enough to prompt a gleeful wink at Reinette, where she crouched on the floor surrounded by the clockwork droids.

Oh well, time to save the universe. It's what I do best, I suppose. But I didn't have a choice, I never do. I save everyone because at the time I'm the only one who will stand up and do it. I never asked for this 'job', and I never have a choice when it comes to it. But I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Me breaking the connection made it pitifully easy to stop the droids. In fact, it made me think that maybe they'd have stopped on their own if I'd broken the link and been on the other side of it. Then I could've stayed with my TARDIS, and I wouldn't be trapped here. Because I am.

Trapped. I was right when I thought I hadn't felt my original link from the fireplace break. That was because it was already broken, by its removal to the palace here. Broken, but not snapped. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I won't have to live with the consequences of one of my impulsive decisions. But no, it was broken and it needed new components. I couldn't fix it, not with only my sonic screwdriver. If only the TARDIS was here, I could've fixed the connection within an hour. But, if the TARDIS was here I wouldn't need to.

Almost the worst part of that scene was the look on Reinette's face when I found out that I was stuck. She looked like she was feeling worse for me then I was, her face had paled and I could see tears trembling at the corners of her eyes. She apologised numerous times, in spite of my telling her that it wasn't her fault: how could she have prevented 51st century clockwork droids from stalking her? I could tell it wrenched her heart deeply that I was stuck. From her brief time inside my head, she felt sorry for anything that happened to me. Yes, her angel was stuck on Earth.

So, here I am: a 900 plus year-old Lord of Time trapped in 1758 because of a lack of equipment. What did I have? My assets were strictly limited to the sonic screwdriver, the psychic paper, my suit which is made out of a material that won't be invented for another…thousand years? Roughly. And I've got my brain, although that doesn't appear to be helping me out of this situation. Oh yes, and I've got an overly-intelligent horse who, if he could talk, would currently be giving me a lot of smart-alec backchat. I can see it in his eyes.

So this is me: caught on the slow path, doomed to watch ages come and go, condemned to see empires rise and fall, alone. But not forever, because that would be _bo-ring!_ Just for the next 3200 years. Give or take.

Unless of course I found a short cut, unless I managed to find myself. It wasn't impossible that at some point I'd come back to this era, in fact it was highly probable. If I could find myself, or a future version of myself then I could hitch a lift back to where I'd left _my_ TARDIS. And no, this wouldn't be creating a wound in time or a paradox, because if I managed to do it, then I'd already done it. There was no history that said I hadn't seen myself and talked to myself. Indeed, I've already done it.

This was the most likely option because I knew, if I was forced to remain on Earth in one timeline for the next 3 millennia without being able to go look for trouble or adventure, I'd create my own. I'd only been here three days and I was starting to chafe at the non-changing-ness of my surroundings, who knew what I'd be like after years and years of it.

I knew for a fact that there was no constant record of my presence. Yes, I'd appeared from time to time in history, but never to stay. Always come in, save the day and leave before anyone gets too inquisitive. If I was stuck until the 51st century and _had_ been stuck from 1758 until then, I will have to / must've kept an exceedingly low profile. English is not the best language for this, the tenses get confusing. I have become attached to it though, and I've got to blend in. Best to think in a language these humans understand.

But it was harder then just finding myself. It had to be a future version of myself – someone I've not yet been. It could be the tenth version but in my personal timeline's future. The problem was, since it was my future I've not done it yet. I _would_ remember. So, I've got no clues on where and when I'll be next. Which makes it potluck, or not quite. Because if I do get back, then I'll know I get back and can therefore start searching for myself. So, therefore my best option was not to move, as much as possible, so I know where I am.

If I was to stay, then I couldn't stay in one place long enough for people to realise that I didn't age. So I had to strike a balance. Always keeping moving, don't make attachments. Eternity is a lonely place.

Of course I'm not the only time traveller in existence, if I came across any others I would ask for a lift. The only problem would be payment and the questions that came with it. The only person who'd understand, do the service for free with no questions asked would be myself, which led me back to the problem of _finding_ myself.

If I want to _know_ somewhen I'll visit regularly enough to be sure of catching myself, I'll have to wait. Not the whole 3200 years, just about 250 of them. London, early 21st century. I couldn't believe that I wouldn't let Rose visit her mum from time to time, even s much as I detested it.

There we are then, sorted. I'll be in London around 2007. Great. Now what do I do until then? I've got time to kill, over 200 years of the stuff.

If I survive this without using up all of my regenerations I'll probably never return to the 19th or 20th centuries if I can help it. I'll be thoroughly sick of them. It may not be as bad as my first estimate, but still it'll be something that I've never done before. And if I get the choice, I'll never do it again. Not that I will. Get to choose that is.

I saved the world and history to my own cost. I'll have to watch time play out on the slow path, unable to press the fast forward button to the interesting bits.

I didn't have a choice, I never do.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_A/N …I've just realised how drabble-y this is. Oh well, only for the first chapter, I promise. Next time: maybe the slow path isn't completely devoid of action._

_Should I bother writing it? Review and tell me._

_Tai_

She's 37 in 1758


	2. Incendia

_A/N It's good to know that it's not just me who thought that there was potential in this episode. _

_NOTES: I've told myself and my muse that I will NOT write an entire story in the Doctor's POV. The main reason for this is because I do not believe that I (or anybody) could write him accurately; he's an alien, I'm not. It would come out sounding…like a disgruntled human. So, I don't like this chapter because it wanted to be written 1st person and isn't – it doesn't flow very well… _

_My inspiration on how to write Arthur came from this picture http/ www.bbc. co.uk/doctorwho/gallery/s204gallery/1024/doctorhorse. jpg (remove the spaces) _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. This is very obvious, because if I did 'The Girl in the Fireplace' would have ended, pretty much, with the Doctor staring ruefully at the smashed mirror/solid wall and the line 'Talk about seven years bad luck, try three thousand…'. _

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**Through The Ages **

**2 – Incendia **

It's 1979; it's been almost an entire year since the Doctor fixed the timeline, trapping himself in the process.

Of course, the flow of time has altered many things, except of course his appearance. He's almost stopped himself from the feeble hope of a rescue, telling himself that if it was going to happen, it would've happened by now. It _has_ been a year. Reinette and the King of France have aged, and not only in looks – the Seven Years war was taking its toll on any one even remotely connected to the royal household. How things change, and yet they stay the same: wars are still fought one hundred years from now, one thousand years, one billion years from now. It's one of the constants of the universe, he tells himself. No need to jump any time someone mentions a war.

He's not in Versailles anymore, not even in France. The King, Louis, hadn't exactly banished him, but it was a close-run thing. A polite banishment if you will, a 'If you don't show yourself for a while, we might welcome you back for Christmas' sort of thing. It was the jealousy behind it: he couldn't stand the way Reinette looked at the Doctor any time he entered the room. The King couldn't bear it when he walked in on the two of them alone, talking about something that they'd immediately stop because of his entrance.

It had been nothing against the King personally; they both knew he was a good man. It was just that they were normally discussing the sorts of things that they'd seen in both of their minds, during their unplanned double-linking. Things that it was probably best not to spread around.

Even if Louis hadn't asked him to leave, there was no way that the Doctor could have borne to be in the _same_ place for an _entire **year**_. So, this brought him to what he was doing now: an extended tour of Europe. He had the next 250-or-so years stuck on the planet; he might as well get to know some of the geography a bit better. Never know when something hostile will be chasing you over it. Or at least, that was what he'd told Reinette.

The truth was that he was always moving, always had been. It was how he'd lived, especially after the Time War…-no, not a good idea to dwell on that. The problem, well, the latest in the long line of problems that his stay was causing; was that if he kept going at this rate, he'd have been over every single inch of the planet and still have just less than 100 years with nothing to do.

Reinette hadn't exactly been happy to see him leaving: her angel wouldn't be around to keep watching over her. He did feel a stab of guilt at the way his mind phrased this but she had better things to do then to be obsessing over him. And he, no offence to her, couldn't stick around. So he'd left, taking Arthur and minimal supplies.

She hadn't let him leave without first trying to press numerous objects on him. For example, the overcoat he was wearing had been a gift from her. His own had been left back in the 51st century, carelessly slung over a supporting beam. She'd also made sure he'd taken plenty of travelling rations, which he hadn't touched but were just behind the saddle, another thing weighing Arthur down. The Doctor supposed that it was a good thing he did have someone along to be baggage handler.

In truth, the horse had decided to come with him rather then the other way around. He'd been about to set off, a small pack slung over his shoulder, when a distinctly annoyed neigh had stopped him in his tracks. He'd then nearly been knocked over by the aggravated beast, until he'd returned to get a saddle and bridle. Reinette had found the entire episode highly amusing, she hadn't stopped laughing until he'd actually ridden out of the gates of the estate.

Of course, it would be quite a bit slower if he hadn't taken Arthur, but he was proving useful. The horse, besides being quite the show jumper, was severely cutting down on the tedious amounts of time _between_ places. And, on top of that, the Doctor couldn't quite tolerate travelling by himself – the thoughts in his head grew too loud and he'd end up miring himself in a swamp of self-recriminations.

The guilt would kill him, if the boredom didn't.

As if sensing his rider's gloomy pre-occupations, Arthur whickered and gave his whole body a sudden shake; designed to make the rider pay attention or fall off. With a sudden curse, the Doctor clamped his legs solidly and shifted his balance to avoid meeting the hard-packed dirt of the track.

"What!" he demanded of the innocently pricked-up ears in front of him. The only reply he received was those ears flicking back at him momentarily. In spite of himself, the Doctor grinned, this horse was getting to understand him better then some of his companions had. He was getting quite accustomed to having him around and he would miss the animal terribly. It would almost be one straw too many when Arthur died, leaving him all alone again.

…Unless… It went against most of the laws of Time, and quite a few of the principles he'd made for himself, but…a horse's physiology wasn't the same as a human's. Well, obviously. But, if one knew what one was doing and one had a suitable tool…he fished the sonic screwdriver out of his suit pocket and grinned again, slightly manically. No time like the present, before his better judgement over-rode his impulsive resolve.

Abruptly reining back to stop Arthur in the middle of the road, the Doctor dismounted and caught the white horse's bridle, a comforting hand placed reassuringly on his neck. This meant that the sonic screwdriver ended up between his teeth. …He _had_ to stop doing that, it was impossible to operate from there. Letting go of the bridle, his fingertips skimmed over the sides of the animal's head, searching. Suddenly he found what he was looking for and turned the sonic screwdriver onto a specific bone structure.

If it was possible, Arthur seemed to understand and merely widened his eyes at the strange device. A few seconds later and the Doctor had finished, sighing explosively as he realised what _exactly_ it was that he'd just done.

He'd created an immortal horse. Well, not exactly, but unless there was an accident Arthur would now live for about 200 years. Enough time to get even more attached. Ok, so maybe that hadn't been such a good idea, but still at least he now had someone to pass the two centuries with. Even if that someone didn't offer much in the way of conversation.

He sighed, what was done was done; it couldn't be un-done without bending some of the rules of time. And for that, he needed the TARDIS. His mind was going round in circles – he kept trying to think of a way to escape from his predicament, but continued running into the metaphorical brick wall that he _couldn't _escape without assistance.

To try and occupy his mind with something else, the Doctor had a good look around at his surroundings. Currently he was a little off the well-travelled path, somewhere in Sweden. Quite a long way from Versailles really, he hadn't meant to go so far. He'd just… gotten carried away really. Almost run straight through Germany, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Russia and Finland. No excitement, no action, although he hadn't really stopped to look for any.

So now…he was almost perishing from the sheer boredom of _nothing._ Always moving on, that was what he did. The difficulty now, was that he could only move on in space, the ability to jump time had been lost to him.

…He was missing Rose though, and even if he would never admit it to either of them, Mickey too. It had been a year for him, but they weren't even there to miss him yet.

He was jerked out of his reminiscing by Arthur, again. The white horse flung his head up, snorting at the air. Curious, the Doctor also sniffed warily at the wind. _That _wasn't normal. But where was it coming from?

Suddenly, he caught sight of something on the horizon. A glowing orange smudge on the horizon, a trail of black smoke rising into the sky.

_Fire._

Something was burning, and judging by the size of it, something big. Without another thought, the Doctor nudged Arthur towards the blaze, increasing the pace until they were travelling at a fast canter cross-country. Unconsciously his mouth stretched into an almost-unfamiliar grin. He hadn't had the occasion to use it for a year; he'd almost forgotten what excitement was.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

It was the capital of Sweden, Stockholm. The capital was burning and there was not a lot that anyone could do about it. The fire was well underway when the Doctor clattered into the town, panic having set in and people running everywhere yelling at the tops of their voices. Right, time to act the hero again.

Slewing Arthur across the path of one group of townsfolk, the Doctor glared down from his perch on the horse's back.

"You and you," he snapped, pointing randomly at two of the men in the front. "Start organising a bucket chain! Are there no wells around here?"

The group looked startled, but soon ran off with a purpose.

"That's the problem with humans…" he muttered to Arthur as he skilfully turned the horse in the direction of the main blaze. "They never get round to _thinking _for themselves. Soon as a disaster happens, they want someone else to do their thinking for them…Always the same…"

With a rather more forceful kick, the Doctor got Arthur moving towards the fire. Arthur didn't like it, and let him know by whinnying constantly and shying from the bits of burning wood littering the street. Despite his steed's obvious reluctance, the Doctor didn't let up, forcing Arthur towards the centre of the inferno.

He didn't know exactly why, but he felt that there was someone here that needed him. There was some reason for the Doctor to be here, if only he could find it.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_I know, he probably couldn't/wouldn't do that to Arthur, but I like that horse! And besides I don't want to give him a human companion and I need him to talk to/at someone. _

_So please give me opinions on 1st/3rd person. _

_Review! _

_Tai_


	3. Withering

_A/N Many thanks for all of your wonderful reviews! Special mention to _lina_ - yes, I do appear to be slightly number-dyslexic. Last chapter, the year is supposed to be 1759, not whatever I said it was. The year after 1758 is 1759! I need to learn that._

_This story is made from 60 percent real history! Just add milk and stir. There really was a fire in Stockholm in 1759, so I thought why not have the Doctor there?_

_Disclaimer: Anything that looks like it's way too good for me to have thought of, I haven't and therefore don't own._

**Through The Ages**

**3 – Withering**

'_You decay. You wither and you die.'_

Eventually the Doctor gave up trying to wrestle Arthur for control. The balky horse was fighting every step of the way, almost refusing to take him deeper into the burning streets. Dismounting, the Doctor gave the white horse a shove

"Go on then, get out of here since you want to so badly," Immediately Arthur whirled, and galloped his way out of the danger area, leaving the Doctor to fend for himself in the disintegrating streets.

Slightly bemused, he tried to keep all his senses alert as he casually detoured around a falling wooden beam. Something wasn't quite right here and it was up to him to find out what. All he had to do was-…

A scream tore the silence of his musings; high-pitched, obviously female. No wait, he'd thought that about Mickey's shriek before, so no jumping to conclusions. Whoever it was, they sounded like they were terrified for their life. Ah, about time for him to step in then. Carefully tilting his head to get a good positional fix on the noise, the Doctor warily chose his path, picking his way through the debris with almost finicky precision.

The screamer was still making quite a racket, enough to make him think that if anything, their situation was getting worse. Halting in front of the most-likely building, the Doctor glanced upwards briefly at the massive three-storey house with flames and smoke billowing from most of the windows. That would make it harder, a much larger area to search while running the risk of being burnt to a crisp. Still, if he didn't, they would most likely die in there. Preventable loss of life was _not acceptable_ he sternly reminded himself before dashing for the main door.

It was difficult to get orientated once inside, the thick haze of smoke made it almost impossible to recognise anything. The loud cries had also stopped, giving him no direction to head in. Oh well, he'd go for the last position he'd thought: definitely upstairs, probably all the way up and towards the back left of the building when seen from the front.

The clouds of dense smoke would make it practically impossible for a human to navigate the house. Lucky for him he wasn't human and could go without breathing for long enough. Still, probably it wouldn't be a smart plan to linger by the entrance when there was somebody inside that he was supposed to be saving. Making an instant decision, the Doctor sprung towards the closest staircase and started to listen closer to the insistent crackling of the fire.

Climbing a burning wooden staircase was not the easiest thing he'd ever tried to do, but it was manageable if he was paying attention. The individual steps had different tones of creaking that spoke volumes to him about exactly how much pressure and for how long they could stand. The steps, two flights of them, were negotiated without cause for alarm but the Doctor could tell that he ought to hurry. The voice had been quiet for too long and he couldn't hear any other signs of life over the roaring of the blaze. The feeling that had prompted him to enter the doomed house in the first place was almost yelling at him, begging him to hurry, to not be too late.

Timelord he might be, but his own lungs were starting to ache with the need to breathe. Nothing quite serious yet, but he was pushing it if he wanted to get out without inhaling any of the sooty air. He'd give himself another few minutes, tops, before calling it a hopeless task; he hadn't even seen any sign of life to suggest he'd even picked the right building.

Suddenly, almost at the edge of his hearing, he caught it. The sound that didn't quite fit, that was out of place and nothing to do with burning furniture. A sob, raspy breath catching in someone's throat. The sign of life that he'd been straining to hear, he was close now, he could tell. Just had to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from.

Randomly he started opening all the doors along the passageway, searching for the lone person. He almost missed her; he'd virtually closed the heavy wooden door before a small sound made him freeze. A tiny voice, nearly inaudible with the crackling of the fire called out to him:

"W-who's there?" a child's voice, clearly absolutely terrified. The stutter was born from pure fear rather then a disability. The Doctor scanned the room, she was definitely in there, her voice had confirmed that, but she was hiding somewhere. On a whim he crouched, bringing his eye-level down to about a foot off the floor. He was rewarded with a gleam of firelight reflecting off a pair of wide, scared eyes from underneath the large four-poster double-bed.

"Hello," he murmured softly, as if speaking to a wild animal. The trick was to project confidence and reassurance through the tone of voice, rather then the actual words spoken. He would have liked to take time in their first meeting, to let her get used to a complete stranger. Unfortunately, the fire was pressing him and he _really _couldn't linger. Making an abrupt decision, the Doctor strode into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. That would give them a little more time before the flames consumed the room.

Crouching again, he scooted under the bed with her – a small, roughly nine-year old girl, her Norse heritage obvious in the mane of pale blonde hair. Astonishingly, instead of cowering away from him, she latched onto him with a small cry; wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his shirt. His initial assessment that he'd never convince her to trust him became a worry that she wouldn't let him move enough to escape the doomed house. She was scared enough so that every muscle would be locked rigid and she wouldn't be able to move. However he had to get her out, staying here, even though it seemed safe at the moment, was an eventual death trap.

The air was relatively clean under the large bed, adequately so to allow him to take several deep, grateful breaths. He had to be strong to get her out, and that didn't mean breaking down into fits of paralysing coughs. She'd be doing that enough for the both of them.

Soothingly the Doctor began to unwind her hands from his jacket, muttering as he did so

"Come on now, we have to leave. It isn't safe here, come on, let's get moving…" Smoothly he rolled out from under the four-poster and worriedly noted the smoke curling in under the door. Offering a small encouraging smile, the Doctor held out his hand to her. Clearly very nervous and scared, the young girl reached out and grasped it, her fingers locking securely with his.

It was harder getting out then getting in. The main reason for this was that the fire hadn't exactly halted while he'd been finding her. There was a constant danger from the ceilings; they were persistently threatening to collapse on top of the pair. And, since he couldn't find an intact set of stairs, even getting to the ground floor was going to be a problem.

The Doctor's brain was working at top speed even as he kept himself aware of the constant dangers of the burning building. However, it was this dual concentration that caused the problem.

He'd let go of her hand a while ago, insisting on keeping a gap between them to minimise the stress on the damaged supports. He was ahead of her, slowly testing their route and trying desperately not to listen to her scratching coughs. The air was thick with smoke, irritating her lungs. His too, if and when he was forced to start breathing.

He was intent on too many different things and so almost missed the warning creaking note of the floorboards. Nearly petrified with a sudden fear, the Doctor swung round, his eyes widening in shock. There, in the middle of the corridor, exactly where he'd said not to walk, was the blonde girl.

"No!" he whispered sharply, taking an abrupt step towards her. Startled, she glanced up at him and seeing the look he was giving her, took a hasty step backwards. The pitch of the floorboards' creak changed unexpectedly. There was only time to see the expression of utter horror on her face before the fire-damaged floor gave out and she was gone, falling through the same floorboards she had been standing on moments before. Her fading shriek ripped through him; a call for help that he couldn't answer.

A choked cry was all the noise he made as he lunged for the hole she'd fallen through. Too late he realised that if the ground was weak, he _really_ shouldn't be standing that close to the weakest point: the chasm.

In fact…the same thing was about to happen to him; the floor was strongest near the sides of the corridor, right next to the walls. This of course was why he was standing in the centre of the passage.

_Whoops,_ was his last thought before the protesting wooden boards gave, and he was falling through an uncomfortably hot void of blackness. He tucked up and rolled to minimise the impact and put out any flames, assuming he survived it. Fire could be a cause of death for Timelords too, it was pretty damn hazardous to any sort of flesh.

Abruptly everything went black.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

She glared out at the Dagmar Cluster, as if the stars were the source of her problems. In a way they were – if she hadn't been so eager to get out and see them up close she'd still be in her comfortable job. Ok, so maybe not exactly the same job; _that_ had been blown up, but a similar one. In that case, she wouldn't be here; Mickey wouldn't be here and, more importantly, they wouldn't be _stuck _here.

So she glared at the stars, while her thoughts ran round and round inside her head. She didn't even know where Earth _was_ in relation to here. She didn't know if she was, unknowingly, staring at her own Sun.

She was stuck, not really from any fault of the stars. But it wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for _him._ If he hadn't leapt through the mirror she wouldn't have this problem now. Of course, she knew what that was asking: she was almost asking him _not_ to have saved the timeline. Intellectually, she knew that there was no other way – he saved the world because it was what he did. How many times had they stood there together as he'd revealed the massive problem, then almost in the same breath explained his solution? How many times had she been with him when their backs had been against the wall, no way out, and she'd thought it had been the end? Too many to count. And yet now it was the end, trapped over 3000 years apart and the only one who knew how to use the time machine was the one separated from it.

He'd been gone for a total of two hours, nine minutes and counting.

Mickey had come up to her earlier, with something obviously on his mind that he wanted to share with her. But she hadn't wanted to listen. She'd brushed him off because she wasn't quite ready to deal with other people right now. She was busy trying to cope in her own fashion. It wasn't working.

Her memory was stuck on replay: the final sorrowed glance that the Doctor had thrown at her before turning to Arthur. He'd been trying to say something with that look, but he hadn't stopped to explain. He hadn't waited to say sorry for what he was about to do. He hadn't even paused to say goodbye. He'd just swung himself up on that horse and exited through the mirror, the way he'd said would leave him no way back. The undercurrent of that statement was _in theory. 'Unless I'm very, very lucky'._

But wasn't he? Rose cast her mind back to the first time she'd seen this new body of his save the world: Christmas aboard the Sycorax ship. They'd all thought it had been over, especially when his hand had been severed at the wrist. But then he'd stood up and declared that he was a lucky sort of a person. Surely that luck wouldn't leave him stranded in the 18th century, in a French court, with _her_? It wouldn't leave him with Madame De Pompadour, would it?

But he'd be back for her, he'd never abandon her. _But,_ her mind whispered _He sure has tried. _The incident with the Daleks, the one that had caused him to regenerate; he'd tried to leave her back in her own time. He'd _tried_ to abandon her! And darn near succeeded.

Reason told her that he'd waited for quite long enough, trying to find another way. How could she blame him for saving the world? Because she did, she condemned him for leaving the pair of them stuck on the spaceship. For leaving them two and a half galaxies, and 3000 years away from home.

Tears ran unheeded down her face as she felt herself shrivel inside. Maybe this time he wasn't coming back, maybe this time he'd gone and left her for good. Maybe he'd found someone else he _wanted_ to be stuck with. A rose with nothing to live for: that was her. A flower withering inside, soon to show the decay on the outside for all to see. A memory came to mind at that thought: the Doctor ranting about humans…

"_You decay. You wither and you die,_" But like this? Was this the sort of withering that he'd meant? Feeling dead inside; and the one person who could make you feel alive again is the one person who made you feel this way to start with.

_Yes Doctor, _she thought _We wither. And from that withering, we will die._

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_Hmmm…should I leave it there? Be thoroughly evil and leave them like that? No? Is that a sharp machete being brandished in my direction? Ok, here's some more…_

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

A burning lance of fire drove itself violently into his leg. Stifling his yelp of pain, the Doctor glanced down/sideways at himself. The instant thing that caught his attention was the glowing red-hot shaft of what had probably once been wood. Whatever it was currently, it was impaling his right calf and was **_really_** starting to hurt about now.

Ok, to add to the list of things that are really _not_ fun: falling through the floors of a burning building. He'd definitely gone all the way down, he distinctly remembered crashing through a second floor; the splinters of wood flying around him as he'd tried to desperately protect his eyes. Now…he was lying on a dirt floor right next to a large pile of smouldering timber. The obvious remains of the floors he'd crashed through. Lucky him not to have landed on it.

Gritting his teeth, the Doctor yanked his leg off of the glowing-hot spike and inspected himself. Apart from the hole all the way through his leg he was in surprisingly good condition. The wound was even cauterised – he didn't need to worry about blood loss. He was still resolutely not breathing, and with good reason: the room was thick with heavy black smoke and not the best of substances to be inhaling.

Now, where was that girl he was supposed to be rescuing? Stilling, he filtered out all of the sounds of the crackling fire and groaning of a protesting building to listen for signs of life. He became extremely nervous when he couldn't find any. They'd fallen from the same place, they should be close to each other now.

A small, weak cough broke his concentration and he dragged himself over to the edge of the pile of wood. There, half-buried was the small, Norse girl. Her breathing was heavily laboured and the Doctor spared a moment of puzzlement for how he had missed that distinguishing noise. This moment was interrupted when he realised _why_ she sounded so pained.

There was a spear of wood, part of a broken-off beam sticking out of her chest. It had run her through and it was a miracle she had lived this until now. She couldn't last long, even as he watched she was fading and she knew it. He'd failed her. He'd promised that he would get her out and he'd failed.

He should have saved her, if he'd tried harder he could have. How hard could it be to save one small girl from a burning building? Too challenging for him, apparently. She was dying. She was already dead, her body just hadn't accepted it yet. As he gazed at her pale, too-pale features and charred blonde hair, a likeness struck him. Along with a sudden suspicion.

"Hey, excuse me, but what's your name? Rebecca?" He could see the negative in her eyes before she even tried to speak. To save her that pain at least, the Doctor rushed on "Ruth? Rhonda? Roberta? Rita?" to each he only saw the pain and confusion. Running out of suggestions, he saw her open her mouth to whisper something.

"…Rachel…"…of course it would be. How could he not have seen it? What was it with this regeneration and its obsession for blonde females with names beginning with 'R'? And for failing them.

Rose had wanted to go with him, even to a trap in the past that he couldn't escape from.

Reinette had wanted to come with him, in the TARDIS to the stars, or just out to explore the current timeline.

And Rachel wanted to stay with him, to live to make it out of this house that would be her grave.

Three different women and he'd failed them all, not being able to give any of them what they'd so desperately wanted. They'd all looked to him to make things better, to fulfil their deepest wish and what had he done? One he'd left without a word, one he'd run from, unable to take the lack of change. And the last was dying in front of him. And he was helpless to do anything.

But he could do one last thing for her; he could hold her hand as she stared at him with those too-wide, terrified blue eyes. He could hold her hand while she died, while she withered visibly from the burns and gradually lost the strength to stay with him. Regardless of the risk to himself, he couldn't bring himself to leave her, not while she was still alive. However brief that time might be. He didn't know how true he'd been when he'd snapped about the frailty of humans:

"_You decay. You wither and you die,_" she was dying, that was obvious, and there was nothing he could do except to sit next her and hold her blood-slicked hand. Offering what comfort he could. No one's path he crossed could have exactly what they wanted – he'd failed all of them. Mickey, Jackie, the human race as a whole; how many had died because of the things that happened around him? He was the last Timelord, the rogue and rebel, and yet he'd lived. How? How had he survived when no other had? His fault, the destruction of one race paid for with the blood of his own. That was what it came down to, the blood that was on his hands; in this case literally.

Rachel was now struggling for every breath, gasping for what little fresh air remained in the basement. The deep, frenzied pants were interspersed with wracking coughs, but she was still trying to say something. He could see she was nearly dead, _she_ knew she was nearly dead and still she tried to speak.

"…D-don't blame…yours…self. …Everyone –has…their …their time…their time…and…a-" she gasped one last time before abruptly going still.

"…And everyone dies," he finished softly. Even him, eventually.

The ceiling above him creaked suddenly and he darted a quick suspicious glance at it before looking back at the still body. A few moments ago, that had been a living girl, one who had been depending on him to save her from the burning building. If he couldn't do that for one terrified girl, what qualified him to save countless planets as he'd tried?

He was the last of an otherwise-extinct race, why did he keep going? He kept commenting that things would be different if the Timelords had survived, he was living in the past and he knew it. The legacy of the Timelords, the universe they'd lived in had perished with them, why did he bother lingering? All he did was interfere in other people's lives; that was all he'd ever really done. That was what had killed his people, his interference.

All he ever did was try and save unthankful people's lives and planets, why? Why didn't he just stop? There weren't that many who would miss him, what was he to lose if he just stayed here? Stayed here and burnt.

Casting a calculating eye back up at the groaning, blazing timbers supporting what remained of the ceiling, the Doctor predicted that if he waited at the most another 5 minutes the question of why he should continue would become purely academic. What would it be like to finally die? Even if he regenerated, he would still be buried under a mountain of blazing wood that had once been a house. He probably couldn't survive that, he too would wither from the heat and die, leaving his remains to decay.

_Everyone has their time and everyone dies._

He didn't even flinch when a few glowing sparks flared up close by, even though they landed all over him. A matter of minutes…

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_Ok, so maybe I am very evil, since this IS the end of the chapter. Be grateful it's longer then the previous ones. Most of you have voted for third person, but if my muse bounces up to me with something that just IS 1st person, that's how I'll write it._

_Opinions? Comments? Do I write utter rubbish? Review and let your thoughts be known!_

_Tai_


	4. Hoarse Comfort

_A/N I am trying with this story, but the muse hasn't provided me with much of a plot so I'm making it up as I go. Not a particularly good idea to do that, but hey._

_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! And thanks to _Lizardios _who's now my official Preserver of the Timeline. Basically he bugs me about all the times the Doctor HAS been to the past, and so might crop up in this story. Thank you loads! Anyone else want to help? Include mentions of major events the Doctor's been to in your review. For all Doctors except the ninth and tenth – I've seen those ones._

_Disclaimer: Haven't you got the picture yet? Not mine!_

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**4 – Ho(a)rse Comfort**

A mere matter of minutes for one who has lived for centuries. A cosmic eye-blink in his life. An insignificant amount of time to one who travels freely between all ages.

So why was it taking so long? Couldn't the universe just do him one favour and not drag his life out any further? …Apparently not.

Suddenly a shrill whinny cut through his depressed thoughts, a horse outside protesting loudly at something. The Doctor jerked his head up in surprise, breathing sharply inwards in reflex. Bad time for reflex to take over: the air was no cleaner then the last time he'd checked. He choked, the air-borne ash coating the inside of his throat. The harsh, grating sound was strangely out of place in the burning building and he stifled it with difficulty, locking what was left of his air in his chest. It wasn't much, but it would last him long enough. There was no need to die from suffocation when burning alive would suit his frame of mind much better.

But…maybe not. The horse's cry had reminded the Timelord of something very important, something that he shouldn't have allowed himself to forget. He _couldn't _die yet, not while there were still people who were counting on him. If he died, he would leave a certain horse behind to live for 200 years. Who knew what the government would make of that?

Also there was Rose and Mickey: he'd left them behind on that abandoned spaceship, and if he didn't keep going, there would be no way for them to get off and leave – by his choice he would condemn them too. He still had people to save, the Doctor was still needed. He had a reason to go on.

Silently, he thanked whichever horse in the street outside had whinnied; they'd reminded him of why he had to go on. Why it wasn't over for him yet. He may be the last and only Timelord, but that just meant that he was the only one around who would save the universe from accidentally blowing up after some idiot pushed the wrong button. It was what he did, and not just because he had to.

The pungent smell of something organic burning stopped him suddenly. And not just anything…that was keratin, the protein that made…hair. Quickly, the Doctor ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging the smouldering wood chip. That would be a fast way to return to his previous regeneration's hairstyle. Or lack of.

Giving the limp, blood-covered hand that he still held one last squeeze, the Doctor gently folded it across Rachel's front. Gathering himself, he stood up. Or tried to. His first attempt landed him back on the floor again, thumping down heavily onto his knees. Ouch, he'd forgotten about his leg; something that now came back to plague him with a vengeance. The hole in his calf went all the way through the muscle there – which meant that it wouldn't be up to supporting his weight until fixed. That was going to make getting out of the house that much more difficult when he couldn't walk without it crumpling. Never mind, he could crawl if he really needed to.

Now…which way led to him getting out of this death-trap? At least this time he was on the right floor, the front entrance had to be somewhere close by. Or at least it would be. The Doctor could tell just from one glance that he wouldn't be leaving _that_ way: his fall from the upper levels had also brought down a massive pile of burning wood. A burning pile which just happened to be blocking the only exit to the room. Oh dear.

It appeared that maybe he _wouldn't _be leaving after all, despite his wishes. Not if he couldn't even leave the room. He was going to burn in the fire whether he wanted to or not.

Another strident neigh sounded over the inferno's roar, louder and closer then before. The Doctor paused, his mind making a link: that had sounded awfully familiar. Maybe he'd given up on the world for a moment; but it seemed that someone hadn't given up on him.

As if in confirmation, he caught the noise of galloping hooves on stone. Where had he heard that before? A moment later and his eyes widened in sudden apprehension: he probably shouldn't be standing right in front of the wall from which the sounds could be most clearly heard. Swiftly he dived out of the way, his injured leg making him miscalculate and smack hard onto the floor.

An instant later the wall he'd been standing next to exploded inwards, massive splinters of wood whizzing past his frozen form. There was a large hole in what had previously been a reasonably solid, if partially burning, wall. The sort of hole that might have resulted from a sharp, heavy impact. Like a horse kicking.

For a moment the Doctor couldn't move, just knelt on the floor where he'd landed staring up at his saviour. Arthur rolled a slightly-panicked eye at him as if to say 'Hurry up!'.

Every time he put his weight down incautiously on his wounded leg it folded painfully and he lost precious seconds levering himself upright again. Although, he didn't really need to stand to get out. His only obstacle was a small pile of wood that almost made a step ladder up to Arthur's back. Which was lucky, because in his present condition the Doctor didn't think that he could make it up on the horse's back without help. Gritting his teeth against the urge to take a deep breath (the air was still not clean enough for that, no matter how much he wanted to), the Doctor scrambled up the last mound, ignoring the numerous small burns and cuts he was inflicting on his hands.

With a final heave he landed violently on the pommel of Arthur's saddle, accidentally winding himself and forcing all of the carefully-hoarded, but now nearly-spent, air out of his lungs in one undignified wheeze.

The horse reacted instantly – launching into a canter so suddenly that the Doctor had to quickly dig his fingers and left toe into the sides of the saddle, anxiously searching for a grip from fear of falling.

Once moving however, Arthur did seem to know what he was doing – the canter was reasonably smooth and he gave plenty of warning before the corners, leaning gradually into them. Despite these considerations, the Doctor was not enjoying his ride to safety; for all its smoothness, every stride was threatening to pitch him off while at the same time driving the front of the saddle further into his stomach, preventing him from drawing a breath. Oxygen was fast becoming his most pressing concern as he struggled against the rhythm of the gait. Even if he wasn't moving the blow had winded him and he'd need a quiet moment to catch his breath. And soon.

As if he'd somehow communicated this wish telepathically, Arthur immediately began applying the brakes. They were out of the danger area but not out of the town itself. However, they had made it past the firebreaks being set up and so were safe, for the time being. The Doctor was happy just to be able to gasp some relatively clean air and fill his lungs for the first time in what felt like forever.

Once he'd recovered sufficiently, he inserted his left foot into the stirrup and swung his other leg over so that he was sitting normally on the horse's back. If he could help it, he was _not_ going to ride slung over the saddlebow ever again. Too uncomfortable and downright painful. For a moment the Doctor was content to simply relish the feeling of inhaling, something he hadn't been able to do much of recently.

But then his brain kicked in, the fresh oxygen triggering the normal suspicious wonderings: a firebreak? The last he'd seen, the local townspeople hadn't appeared nearly organised enough to set one of those up. Frowning, he nudged Arthur over to where most of the construction work was going on; teams of men hauling away parts of demolished houses, removing anything that would be able to burn. Now…who looked to be in charge of this operation?

There, on top of one particularly large pile of timber: the man waving his arms around and bellowing at various groups of his helpers. It had to be him. In fact…he even looked familiar. The Doctor dug around in his cavernous memory before unearthing the fact that this was one of the people he'd snapped at upon his entrance to the capital. He'd practically ordered them to do something against the fire – he shouldn't really be surprised that he was being obeyed.

At that moment, the man in charge seemed to notice the figure on horseback watching him. There was a second where he gave the impression of not recognising the out-of-place suit, before his face split into a wide grin.

"Oi!" he yelled down to the Doctor "Just want to say thank you. After you shouted at me and my mates, we realised that we could save some of this town!"

The Doctor merely nodded an acknowledgement and twitched Arthur's head round so that he was heading out of the town.

"Hey!" the man called after him. Without any prompting at all, Arthur paused and slowly turned around.

"Who am I thanking for making me save what I can of the city?" he shouted.

"The Doctor!" he called back, then immediately clamped his jaw shut. But it was too late now, the name was out and entirely probably going down in the history books. He was going to have to come up with a new alias if he wanted to keep a low profile. The problem was that he'd had that one for too long, it _was_ his name and he was going to have to try quite hard to respond to another.

He had to change it though, otherwise how was he going to make it back to Rose and Mickey? 'The Doctor' was quite a celebrity in some eras.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

It was still exactly the same view. It hadn't changed for as long as she'd stood there, watching it. Maybe that was significant in some way? She may have suffered the biggest shock in her life, but on the cosmic scale, the stars didn't shift. Not even the tiniest bit.

Three hours and forty-seven minutes. She wasn't trying to keep count any more but her brain did it automatically. If he came back that instant, the time would probably be the first thing she'd yell at him. Followed by the accusations that were running through her mind. _Had_ been running through her mind ever since she'd comprehended that he _was_ gone. For good.

She sensed Mickey behind her again: he'd taken to coming to check on her every ten minutes. Regular as clockwork. Unconsciously she shuddered at the thought of the robots which had made the Doctor sacrifice her, sacrifice them and leave them alone on the spaceship. Surprisingly, the clench of anger she felt at that thought was a little less then every previous time she'd had it. Maybe she was unbending enough to understand why he'd done it? She still felt the anger though, so maybe not.

But maybe she was willing to listen to the explanation now.

She turned around to face Mickey, the first time she'd looked her friend in the eye since _he'd_ gone. And, hesitantly at first, Mickey started to explain what the Doctor had said to him with that last glance. A picture worth a thousand words. More. And he was sure he hadn't even picked up on half of it.

The Doctor had to leave, he didn't have a choice. It's what he does, there's no one else to save the timeline if he doesn't. Not any more. So, it's not really an abandonment – if he could get back, he would've already. She ought to feel some sympathy for him too, trapped in the 18th century alone. That is, if she can spare any from herself.

That eases the pain a little, she's not the only one suffering from this. And at least Rose isn't alone. No, there's her oldest friend Mickey, who's trying his best to cheer her up. And then there's _his_ oldest friend too: the TARDIS. The last of its kind; an eclectic time-space ship that, with the proper handling, can go any_where_ and any_when_.

Rose stopped her train of thought there, a sudden hope blossoming. The TARDIS could take them straight to him. Straight to 1758, France. Hardly daring to hope, she voiced the thought aloud.

"How do you intend to fly the TARDIS?" Mickey protested. He didn't like the more jerky rides that the new Doctor was so fond of, and from his voice he almost didn't trust Rose at the controls.

"I've got bits of memory floating around inside my head. I half-know how to already…" she murmured, not questioning where the incomplete knowledge came from. She recognised that it was a left-over from when she'd looked into the heart of the TARDIS itself, fragments of memory lodged in her brain.

Looking into the Time Vortex a second time was pretty much out of the question; even if they could get it opened again she wasn't willing to deal with the consequences again, now that she'd just about gotten used to this version of the Doctor.

The trick to flying the TARDIS was setting the co-ordinates at the start, if she wanted to be flown, the TARDIS would do most of the in-flight corrections herself. The Doctor just liked to fiddle mid-flight and feel in control. And if they were on a mission to find the Doctor, the TARDIS would be more then willing to hunt out her Timelord.

Also… "There _has_ to be a 'How To' flight manual somewhere on board," Rose murmured out loud, more to reassure herself then to talk to Mickey. With that thought in mind, she turned away from the cluster of stars that she'd been staring at for over three hours without another glance and charged for the blue telephone box. Dimly she was aware of Mickey following her, relieved that she'd gotten over her 'Depressed-doing-nothing' stage of grief.

Rose would give the Doctor a day, twenty-four hours, to return on his own. Plus however long it took before she felt confident enough to try crossing time without him at the controls. This time she wasn't just going to sit there and wait for the Doctor to do all the saving of the day. She was going to find him before he got into a situation that gave him the haunted look in his eyes and made him say that he was 'alright'. Not this time.

This time was for her to prove her worth as one of the Doctor's companions, as a time-traveller. She set off for the TARDIS's library, running over the holes in her knowledge.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

Leaning down, the Doctor deposited the eighteen-month old baby in its mother's arms then straightened, sighing wearily to himself as he turned Arthur back into the burning streets in search of another person he could evacuate. It had now been over four hours since his arrival in the capital of Stockholm and he was drained to the bone with utter tiredness.

Since he'd let his name slip to the man organising the fight against the fire, he'd been drafted in to help as fire-rescue and fast messenger service. Although, it was actually Arthur who was doing all of the leg-work. He was pretty useless at the moment without the white horse – he couldn't even walk without aid due to the hole through his right calf. Luckily for him it wasn't permanent – the sonic screwdriver could deal with most of the muscle damage. He hadn't had a moment to see to his injured leg, not on his own. He'd have to cope with it for a little longer to avoid the cries of 'witchcraft' that would most likely result from him fixing it. If possible, he'd like to avoid being burnt at the stake today, there was enough fire around already without adding a pyre to it.

Apart from the injury, the hours of work had taken their toll on his appearance. The smoke and soot had plastered itself to every exposed area of skin. This did make him look a bit odd as his suit just shrugged the dirt off: he appeared immaculate, if you didn't count the absolutely filthy face and hands. Arthur hadn't escaped either and his once-cream coat was now a grubby, smudged grey.

Over the past hours he had frequently asked himself what exactly he was doing here: anybody could be doing this – it wasn't like he was being the impossible hero, saving the world when no one else could. …Although, he was saving the world for those few people he rescued individually. Saving them, so that they could see the world for another day, and being important for them, he supposed. So there was reason for him to stay, even if he wasn't wholly responsible for all the lives salvaged.

Abruptly Arthur stopped dead, his ears pricking up. Curious, the Doctor strained his hearing to catch what the horse was listening to. Unexpectedly he caught it: a soft whisper of sound. But…it wasn't the usual cry for help that he'd been responding to for the past four hours, it wasn't even a human voice.

Faintly over the constant roar of the fire came a grinding, wheezing groan of engines under strain. The Doctor froze as if he'd been electrocuted; he knew that noise, there was no way he could _ever_ forget it. It was the sound of adventure, a new world behind pseudo-wooden doors. But more importantly, it was the sound of home.

Then he realised that he hadn't moved, Arthur was waiting for instructions. The horse had never before heard the distinctive sound of the TARDIS materialising and wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Swiftly he pressed his heels into Arthur's flanks and firmly urged the horse on. The animal was startled by the sudden move and leapt forward jerkily, forcing his passenger to cling on with both his legs, the wound in his leg angrily protesting.

Even that didn't make the Doctor let up, pressing Arthur at a risky gallop through the streets of burning houses. Nothing mattered save that he reach the source of the other-worldly sound, and that he reach it fast.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_And there we have another chapter. Yay, go me. And another evil place to stop. I like those don't I?_

_I've just thought, tell me if I've got the genre right for this story; I've put it as Drama/Angst but it could be a lot of other things._

_Review and feed the story-making muse! Please?_

_Tai_


	5. Fade Away

_My thanks again to _Lizardios_, I'll probably start using your stuff in two to three chapters time._

_Many thanks to those who reviewed. And to those who haven't: why not? One word, that's all I'm asking it won't take long, you don't even need to log in..._

_Disclaimer: Schniff, not mine. Although if they're giving it away, I could find a good home for Doctor Who…_

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**5 – Fade Away**

The noise almost seemed to be taunting him, moving further away as gave chase. It was hard to tell exactly how close he was, as the sound bounced around the streets getting muddled with the roaring blaze. Arthur was trying his hardest though, now that he understood the Doctor wanted to find the source of the abnormality.

The Doctor's eyes widened in dismay as the pitch of the groan changed subtly. He knew exactly what that meant – the TARDIS had been his home for too long for him _not_ to have picked up on all of the tiny changes. The change of the pitch no longer indicated the appearance of the time-space ship, but its _disappearance_. His would-be saviour was vanishing, without even waiting long enough to look outside.

Arthur skidded round a corner into a narrow alleyway, hooves scrabbling for traction at his speed. He barely checked at a burning timber blocking the passage, merely shortened his stride slightly and sailed over it. They were now so close to their destination and unwilling to give up, but somehow they both knew that it wouldn't be close enough.

There, just under a soon-to-collapse archway was the familiar outline of a blue telephone box fading from sight. The Doctor stared in disbelief at the space which had a moment ago contained his ticket out of this era; he'd been so close to escaping his predicament. So close, and he hadn't been able to reach the TARDIS in time.

…But why had it disappeared so quickly? According to the pitch of the engines; the sound he'd heard first had been it _arriving_. There'd barely been a pause before they'd started up again for departure. If it had been him trying to find himself, why hadn't he at least stopped for a quick scan?

A sudden thought struck him, had it even been _his_ TARDIS? No, that one was easily answered: what other TARDIS would look like a 1960's police public call box in 1759? Definitely his girl, and in his relative future he thought, seeing as he didn't remember _ever_ leaving somewhere as quickly as that.

The immediate disappearance of the time-space ship could be explained though – she _did_ have in-built safety features that he'd never managed to fully override. Safety features that monitored the surroundings once landed and, if dangerous, say like a ton of burning wood was about to collapse on top of the ship, she'd return to where she'd left from. Unless one disabled the feature manually upon landing, something he did as a matter of course when piloting. What did that imply? It wasn't him in the driver's seat? He shuddered as he contemplated just _who_ had gotten their hands (or other appendages) on _his_ ship. If he ever caught up with them, he'd give them a piece of his mind.

He sat still, gazing at the point which had briefly accommodated a certain blue box and berated himself for not responding faster. He could maybe have reached it before it was too late. He'd just missed another exit from this year, he'd had a chance to escape and he'd muffed it. Maybe he didn't deserve to be given an easy route out of this situation.

Sighing, he nudged Arthur back over to the main group of people behind the now-completed fire-breaks. Some inner instinct told him that they'd now saved all the people trapped in the fire, there was none alive that hadn't been rescued. He wondered briefly if he could explain this knowledge to the locals in charge of the evacuation and get them to stop wasting their energy on searching the city.

Maybe he didn't need to, his part in this was done – all he had to do now was leave. Fade out of these people's lives as if he'd never been there in the first place. Except that he'd stupidly given them his name, in the instant before he'd thought. Maybe he was the one who deserved the title of 'Idiot'.

Time to go. Maybe now was a good occasion to turn around and go visit Reinette in Versailles, to join the French court again before wander-lust took him off. The Doctor experienced a fleeting moment of doubt whether or not King Louis would welcome him back or just throw him straight into the dungeons upon his return. Never mind, even if that did happen he could cope with dungeons; he'd had enough experience with them.

His mind made up, the Doctor left the vestiges of the fire in Stockholm to begin the long journey back to France.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

Thirty-nine hours and twelve minutes. Or; one day, fifteen hours and twelve minutes since he'd left.

Rose glanced down at the open page of the manual again before looking up around at the console, mentally locating various buttons, levers and switches. She wanted to know where everything was before it became a pressing urgency in the middle of flight.

The guide she'd found in the TARDIS library appeared to cover the basics of setting destination and target age, but did mention several times that prior knowledge of flying such a time ship as the TARDIS was required. Rose had ignored this injunction.

She felt as ready as she could be, despite the fact her eyelids were threatening to close from tiredness. She had snatched a four hour nap and then experienced a moment of deep, wrenching shock when she'd awoken to a glaring absence of the Doctor. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be, and she'd do everything in her power to right the situation.

There was nothing else she could do in preparation; she'd read the relevant sections of the flight manual several times over and scoured her brain for any scraps of important information. She was ready. Taking a deep breath, she held it in for a moment before exhaling in a rush. There was nothing to be gained from delaying the inevitable any longer.

Looking up, she met Mickey's concerned gaze, her own eyes reflecting the pure steel of her determination. Firmly, she nodded at him, not trusting her voice to remain steady enough for speech. He nodded back, his grip on the console opposite tightening in preparation for what would most likely be a violent and unpredictable journey.

Reaching out before she had too many second thoughts about it, Rose flipped the lever that, according to the book, would start up the ship out of its dormant mode. Next, some inner instinct or memory fragment directed her left hand to a nearby row of switches. Numbers one, two and five were toggled before she raced around to the other side of the central pillar, her hands flashing out to adjust several dials on the way past. Then an abrupt reverse direction as she stretched to try and reach all the correct controls at the same time.

She was getting the hang of flying the TARDIS and was also beginning to understand why the Doctor wasn't always perfect at it: there was just so _much_ to do. And Rose could half-sense that the TARDIS herself was coping with over 75 percent of the course corrections and adjustments – the human wouldn't be able to fly this machine anywhere other then where the TARDIS agreed to go. And that was limited to chasing after the Doctor, something that Rose had specified within the first twenty seconds. She hadn't entered a set of co-ordinates as the destination, rather a set of parameters for finding a specific person. On top of that, she'd explained as best she could mentally; the TARDIS had established a psychic link the instant she'd realised _why_ it wasn't her Timelord at the controls.

Both of them ignored Mickey, leaving him rooted to the spot in the shuddering control room staring in astonishment as Rose ran laps about him, absent-mindedly reaching round him to operate one particular lever or knob.

Even with the time-and-space ship's help Rose was kept busy – madly dashing around and around the circular console until she was extremely dizzy, her mind swirling with information from her half-memories and from the mental link with the TARDIS.

All of a sudden, the entire ship bucked viciously, catching Rose mid-stride and making her stumble. She only just kept her footing by grabbing hold of the console for dear life. There was a loud rumble before the ship landed with its usual finesse.

Rose had only a millisecond to realise that the rough landings that pitched the entire crew onto the floor weren't exactly the Doctor's fault before the Time Rotor started up again. Her eyes wide in astonishment, she clambered upright and tried to make sense of the Gallifreyen text on the monitor and the conflicting emotions coming from the TARDIS. A definite undercurrent of fear with lacings of joy at something found and a sense of the frustrated at having to leave it be, plus twinges of regret and over-tones of resignation about leaving.

The only clear impression Rose got was when she reached for the rack of switches, intending to start guiding their flight; a sharp warning spiked through her mind with a message that boiled down to one word: _don't_.

There was nothing to do except exchange puzzled looks with Mickey while the TARDIS flew them somewhere. This mystified Rose a lot; the time-and-space ship had never flown itself at any time apart from when she'd looked into its heart. And even then she'd mentally been linked with the ship, telling it where to go. The only time the Doctor left the TARDIS by itself was when they were landed somewhere, or when they were just drifting through the vortex of space and time. Not when they were en-route to a specific location. Rose's anxiety rose several notches before their arrival was announced with another brutal touchdown.

As soon as she could stand again, Rose raced out of the blue box, not stopping even when she felt the ship's mental connection break. Obviously, maintaining a link to a human strong enough to talk through was not something the TARDIS could do if you weren't standing right next to its heart. But Rose wasn't really thinking this; she was more concerned with finding out where they had landed.

As she burst out of the telephone box her gaze darted around, trying to identify her surroundings. She almost screamed when she recognised it: she was getting thoroughly sick of the 51st century ship. They were back exactly where they'd started from, where she'd spent hours just standing, staring out of the windows. After she'd tried her hardest to leave this place, the TARDIS just turned around and brought them straight back. But why? They'd gotten somewhere only to have immediately dematerialised and returned to where they'd left.

It was almost like they were tied to the abandoned ship, unable to leave. Their bright hope of escaping was fading. Mickey poked his head out of the TARDIS doors when Rose didn't return and, on seeing him, she burst into tears. They were unable to do anything to help their situation it seemed.

Ironic; they had what was possibly the best ship in existence. Or at least, the quirkiest; and they were stuck because they didn't understand it well enough.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

Five miles, that ought to be enough he thought. Even if it wasn't, the Doctor wasn't going to go any further without doing something for his injured leg. He'd felt the pain steadily increasing ever since he'd left the fire-fighting teams, ever since he hadn't had anything else to occupy his mind with.

Five miles and a reasonably deserted Swedish forest would have to do. He checked all around one last time, to make sure there was no one who might be observing him as he performed what would be classed as an act of witchcraft. Humans; fear anything they don't understand and brand it with the generic label of 'sorcery'. Unable to see that it was merely advanced technology; humans couldn't believe something was possible until they'd done it for themselves. It was one aspect that made them so endearing at times. And at others, namely when you had sharp pointy objects being waved at you, it was their single worst trait.

Good, no one as far as he could detect. Arthur too seemed relaxed, surrounded by the peaceful forest. Mentally preparing himself, the Doctor swung his injured leg over the horse's back and slid to the ground. His abused leg spiked with pain and collapsed, unable to bear even the slightest bit of weight. This left him sitting bemusedly on the forest floor, looking up at a decidedly amused horse. He had been aiming to sit down under the trees; he just hadn't planned to do so in quite as undignified a manner as that.

"Quit that," he grumbled to Arthur, but without any real conviction. The animal was entirely justified to laugh at his discomfort – he only had himself to blame for getting hurt in the first place and then for not dealing with the injury until now.

Speaking of which, the Doctor fished the sonic screwdriver out of his inside jacket pocket and fiddled with the settings until he found one suited to deal with his wound. Rolling up his trouser leg to fully expose the extent of the problem, he carefully ran the blue glow over both sides of his calf and watched with satisfaction as the holes slowly closed up. The muscle tissue _was _knitting itself back together at an increased rate but the leg would still be weak and tender for a while. However, give him a week and it would be as good as new. Maybe the sonic screwdriver wasn't as good at healing as a flock of nanogenes, but it still got the job done well enough for him. And the device was far more versatile.

Almost as if he was proving this to his own mind, the Doctor absent-mindedly flicked the settings on the tool and repaired his pin-striped trousers where the skewer of wood had ripped through them. Without the screwdriver he'd have two holes in his trousers to match the one in his leg. Lucky for him then.

Arthur, who was still standing over the sitting figure of the Timelord, abruptly whickered and started nudging the Doctor's head with his muzzle.

"What?" the Doctor demanded irritably in an attempt to get the horse to leave him alone. Arthur merely turned sideways then craned his head backwards to nudge at the saddle he was still wearing.

Oh? The animal wanted a break. Muttering a few choice Gallifreyen curses under his breath, the Doctor heaved himself upright with the aid of a nearby tree and stood with his weight on one leg while he un-tacked the white horse.

"Hope you're happy," he almost snarled as he dumped the unwieldy mass of saddle on the ground. Arthur appeared unconcerned and tossed his head before wandering off.

The Doctor sighed deeply as he leaned even more on the convenient tree for support. Something was wrong with him if he couldn't keep up with his companions; even if they were animals. Needing a little familiarity, he reached to draw his overcoat tighter around himself. And stopped dead when his fingers only grasped air.

His mind raced before producing the memory. That was right; he'd given the long coat to a woman back in Stockholm. A victim of the fire, she'd obviously escaped her burning house with only the clothes she was wearing and the three small boys clinging frantically to her. She'd needed everything he could have given her, which had only been the coat at the time. Sometimes he felt so inadequate: there were so many lives he couldn't save, and those he did needed that much more then he could give them. He hadn't needed the coat then; he'd been too close to the fires to feel the slightest bit of cold.

And now? He wasn't human, cursed with their frail physiology; he'd survive without it. Also Reinette would probably give him another when he appeared on her doorstep without it.

He felt desperately in need of someone who understood who he was and what he was going through. The uncrowned queen of France knew, from her little jaunt inside his head. She comprehended the unspoken loneliness that coiled around his heart, ready to strike without warning. She couldn't do anything for him except be there, but in a world of strangers, sometimes, it was enough.

Maybe if he concentrated on the travel time for the journey back he could arrange it so that he arrived at Versailles on Christmas Day. He'd have been gone long enough for the King to have forgotten how annoying he could be, and at the same time he would be there for one of the most-celebrated holidays. The Doctor grinned to himself at that thought: Reinette would have her angel back for Christmas.

His mind made up, he pushed himself fully upright then paused, staring at his hand. His filthy, soot-coated hand. He'd have to see about cleaning himself up. Listening closely to the general forest sounds, the Doctor caught the distinct noise of fast flowing water. A stream, that would do nicely.

Getting to the stream required more determination than grace as he lurched awkwardly from branch to branch before crashing down on his knees by the water's edge. His newly-mended leg was obviously still going to cause him some grief before it healed completely.

Once his hands had lost their blackened colour the Doctor took a deep breath, more as a bracing act then from a need of oxygen, and dunked his head under the surface of the stream. The freezing shock of the water was more then enough incentive for him to rock back sharply on his heels, flicking the water out of his eyes. Well, that was one way to wake his brain up.

Loosely combing his now-dripping hair with his fingers, he hoped that had gotten rid of most of the grime; he wasn't about to do that again. Using the icy shock to his advantage, the Doctor decided to use his now-alert status. By coming up with a decent alias for himself. Something he could remember easily that didn't stick too much in people's minds. But he didn't think that 'John Smith' was an option as that was _everybody's_ pseudo-name. In actual fact, there weren't that many John Smiths in existence compared to the number of people who used the alias. So much so that everybody now believed that if you said your name was John Smith then you had something to hide.

An increased rustling from the undergrowth led his attention to the reappearance of Arthur. Good, he could get a second opinion on his options.

"I think I'll be able to stick with 'Smith' as a surname, but I need a new first name that I'll respond to…" Arthur tilted his head to one side before snorting cynically. The Doctor didn't need a TARDIS to translate what he thought the horse had just said. Leaping to his feet, with only a minor wobble from his right leg, he waved a finger sternly at the unrepentant animal.

"And I refuse to be called _Mickey_ Smith! …Or Ricky! Got that?" He sat down abruptly to pre-empt his leg giving out. Arthur made a sound that was uncomfortably close to a human snickering. The Doctor glared, before trying to run some other suggestions by him.

"How about…Adam? Adam Smith?" he then replied to himself before Arthur had a chance to "No…doesn't go. Besides, I wouldn't want to be called after a pretty-boy,"

"What do you think of …Peter Smith? No…Liam Smith? I quite like that one," Arthur just whickered again and shook his head. "No? Okaaay, what about David? David Smith?" Arthur merely looked at him but didn't appear to want to comment.

"And, since I respond so well to 'Doctor', I'll have to have an official doctorate. So, that makes me Dr. Smith. Hopefully I'll still get people to call me 'Doctor'…"

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_If you guys have any better (reasonably sane) suggestions for an alias that he would conceivably use, please review and tell me. Otherwise, I'm sorry couldn't resist, but he is going to be Dr. David Smith. He won't use it that much; most people'll still call him 'Doctor'._

_But yeah, review?_

_Tai_


	6. Unexpected Arrivals

_I've just had a thought: if I continue at my present rate, this will turn out to be a **very** long story. And there's nothing I can do about that except to cut it short, and I don't really want to do that… I don't think I'll abandon it though…hopefully… _

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**6 – Unexpected Arrivals **

--- Year: 5058 ---

One day, twenty-two hours and three minutes. She wasn't even thinking about the running counter any more – it had become just something her brain worked out whenever she glanced at her watch. It had been nearly two whole days without any sign from the Doctor, or any progress made in leaving the ship he'd left them on.

Was this how she was doomed to live until she died? Wandering around a 51st century spaceship, gloomily pondering on where it had all gone wrong? The key-shaped ship was quite large, bigger then most houses. But still she'd managed to stomp all round it twice since they'd landed back on it.

Sighing, Rose switched ships, tramping through the control room of the TARDIS and off down a corridor. She wasn't particularly paying attention to where she was going as she didn't have anything that she could think of to do for their problem. She was just trying to keep moving so that she wouldn't fall asleep and be prey to her nightmares. Although the waking reality of the situation was bad enough: trapped far away from Earth, both in distance and relative time and without the ability to return. And they'd lost the only person who came up with the solutions to any problem.

Her mind had been chewing over the obstacle without cease, despite her tiredness and the fact that it completely stumped her. However, the human body is a frail thing and can only take so much before having to recharge.

Almost like a hint, the next door Rose slumped against in her bleary stupor was one she recognised: the door to her own bedroom. Resolutely ignoring the TARDIS, she pushed off from it and staggered down the passage some more before lurching to one side against another door. …Also the one to her room.

This happened twice more before Rose gave in to the stubborn ship and entered her own bedroom. Once inside, the only thing she had the energy to do was collapse on the bed and wonder why she hadn't done this an hour ago.

In the meantime, Mickey had buried himself in the vast expanse of books that made up the TARDIS's library. He'd found a number of books talking about the TARDIS ships and their quirks. He eventually discovered what he was looking for in the trouble shooting guide of the manual Rose had used.

The TARDIS might, on occasion, immediately turn on and fly itself back to the point of departure if one of the safety features was activated. Say, if the landing site was deemed hazardous by the ship. That was entirely probably what had happened, since Rose had been too intense on flying the ship to worry about turning off safety features. However, he'd have to ask her if she had when she woke up. Or when he woke up as he was also suddenly starting to feel the effects of staying up too much.

In the morning then, or whatever passed for it on this ship, he'd ask Rose about the safety feature. Then, they might try flying the TARDIS again to get back to the Doctor. Anything was better then this ship; if this worked, he'd definitely ask to steer clear of spaceships in the future.

--- Year: 1760 (January) ---

The ringing of hooves on stone was the only sound in the clear morning air. Or so it appeared, and the Doctor was trying his best not to hear the background noises that any city generated. If they were ignored then the sight around him was truly a thing of beauty.

What was it about French cities covered in snow? The older ones especially, they just seemed to freeze, life going utterly still. He and Arthur were the only things moving. Or at least if one took no notice of the basic functions of the city. Still, it was more poetic if one felt alone.

The breeze carried powder flakes of snow which caught the light from the just-rising sun. He smiled a little to himself at the perfection of his timing: it was dawn on Christmas Day and he was ten minutes from the Palace of Versailles . Lord of Time indeed.

Although it was a good thing he was so close; he shivered suddenly and hunkered down on Arthur's back, even for him it was _cold_ without some sort of coat. He hoped that Reinette would take pity and give him one – he still had his money problem from before, or rather his _lack_ of money problem. That had yet to be resolved – while he was at court, Reinette tended to deal with all of his financial issues and he had yet to need money outside of the court.

Someone else was up at this time because the gates were opened for him. The Doctor pitied the person whose job it was to merely watch and open the gate for visitors. Also someone had recognised him, because he was immediately ushered inside and Arthur was led off to the stables for a permanent stall.

Barely half an hour later a cry of 'Doctor!' drew his attention to a gowned figure rushing into the room and a genuine smile of welcome. The uncrowned queen of France stopped just short of running into him and subjected him to an intense scrutiny. He evidently passed the test because she relaxed and murmured

"My angel…home for Christmas," His response was a characteristically chirpy grin but before he got to say anything, the current King of France walked in.

Louis XV's face twisted unconsciously into a semi-scowl when he saw who the irregular visitor was. He felt that he had enough to deal with, even without Madame de Pompadour's 'Doctor'. But, seeing as it was Christmas he could hardly turn the man away, especially given his help over a year ago.

The Doctor sensed the gist of the thoughts running through the king's head and decided to divert his attention. Maintaining a half-smile, he apologised profoundly for not bringing any presents despite knowing what day it was.

In answer, Reinette's mouth tugged up at the corners as she replied smoothly

"Worry not, for your presence here is a greater gift then I had hoped for," At hearing this, Louis' scowl just deepened. Taking the not-so-subtle hint laid out for him the Doctor excused himself and went to see what had been done with Arthur.

This became a regular pattern; every time the king looked to be getting too annoyed at the Doctor's presence and attitude he left the room. Most of the time his excuse was that he wanted to check on Arthur, but sometimes he didn't even offer a reason. Once on his own, the Doctor just wandered around the palace, mostly ending up in the stables to complain to someone who would listen.

But on his rambles he explored most of the hidden passages of the large building. The era did create a lot of them and the French were well known for their romantiscms. Sometimes he just felt that he wanted to be out of range of the accusing stare of the king and any of the servants who obviously took the same point of view. The passages were ideal for that before they simply got too claustrophobic for someone who was accustomed to having all of space and time as their playground.

When that happened, he normally ended up on the roof. Or any vantage point he could get a good view from, no matter the time of day or night. In fact, night was sometimes better as he could see the stars and run through what planets in range and would be seeing the Sun as a simple pinprick of light like he was seeing their stars. Sometimes this helped, at other times it just made him even more homesick for a certain blue box.

About a week after his impromptu arrival he was standing by a large open window, watching a procession arrive at the palace when Reinette came up behind him. Clearly she had something on her mind as she stood for a moment, uncertain, before launching into an obviously prepared speech.

"I know it's a week late, but…I have a present for you…" a puzzled expression worked its way across his face before he turned around to her and saw the bundle of cloth in her arms. Bemused, the Doctor lifted it from her, the folds opening out until he was holding the front of a full length overcoat. He examined it, an unconscious grin forming on his face.

The outside was a plain non-descript grey that suited his desire for a low profile. The only peculiar thing was the lining, which was pure white and stood out quite a lot from the rest. Curious, he slung the garment around his shoulders, and then peered down to notice that the white wasn't at all visible when he was wearing it. A mystified look at Reinette asked for clarification, but she only smiled and waited.

A moment later a gust of air teased at the lower half of the duster, blowing it out backwards before subsiding. Reinette smiled again at the sight, she'd calculated the fit exactly right; when the wind caught the coat perfectly it would billow out, exposing the driven-snow white of the lining. When that happened the design also put the watcher in mind of a pair of stylised wings. Precisely what she'd wanted for her angel; he ought to have some characteristic telling people what he was, that he was something more then human.

After noting that he appeared pleased with the coat, or at least that he hadn't taken it off, she attempted the second part of her speech.

"Doctor? Since you're not going to stay at court forever…well, I was thinking that...maybe you'd do me a favour?"

Now distinctly worried by the excessive amount of sugar she was trying to coat her request in, the Doctor nodded warily.

"Since you're going to be leaving, I want some sort of memento of you… I was thinking that you could...do me the honour of…sitting for a painting, a portrait. So that I'll always be able to see you watching over me…"

The Doctor blinked, he hadn't been expecting _that_. But to do as she asked, it was impossible.

"…I can't. I can't be seen, I can't go down on record. Someone will notice that I still look the same after so many years have passed that the painting is barely recognisable. It would create…suspicion. You know that I can't allow it," his voice was laced with sorrow as he understood how much this meant to her, but still with a firm edge as he absolutely had to quash any suggestion of the possibility.

"But…" her face fell "For me? No one else would see it; I'd keep it in my private rooms. I have an artist – she's done work for me before, discretely. And I could leave instructions for the portrait to be destroyed on my death. Just for me, my angel?"

"Reinette…" she could see the answer in his face but perversely wanted to _hear_ him spoil the rising hope "It's impossible, I _can't,_"

The apology was unspoken but she didn't want to stay to listen to him explain, she didn't have to. She knew exactly why it was such a bad idea, and yet she'd thought that, under her conditions, he'd agree to make her happy. Annoyed with him, she spun around and stalked off the balcony, leaving him staring unemotionally into the mounting wind; his new duster flapping and exposing the 'wings'.

As soon as she'd left the room, the Doctor abandoned his pretence of indifference and slumped, his shoulders sagging. He needed someone to talk to and currently Reinette was off that list. There were times that, despite what she knew about him from seeing his memories, the uncrowned aristocrat just _didn't _understand him. Sometimes no human could.

Alone. Forever.

Such an easy thing to say, such a hard thing to comprehend. And harder still to live it. Something that none of his companions could experience for themselves, though they could see the effect on him. …He needed to talk to someone; he was getting too caught up in his depressing thoughts. Time for another visit to the stable then.

Arthur was happy to see him, and not just in the way that animals are glad to have human company. The horse was smarter then that and almost immediately sensed the Timelord's mood of gloomy pre-occupation. From previous occasions, the horse knew that all he could do was provide a willing ear. Or a distraction in the form of an adventure, but as none of those were forthcoming he'd just have to listen.

Needing to work off some of his energy, Arthur started running circles around his friend, while the Doctor stood stationary, revolving on the spot to keep looking at the horse, and talked. Of course, this only lasted until he got thoroughly sick of spinning and Arthur came in to listen closer.

"I feel so…_wrong_ here, out of place. I mean, I know that's because I _am_ out of place, possibly as much as you can be, but it's more then that. I don't fit in here, and pretty much everyone I meet can tell that. Of course, what good is realising that, eh? Rather obvious really. Not much I can do about it without my TARDIS. So I'm stuck here, as much as I've been for the past year. I'm going to lose what little sanity I've managed to hold onto with all this..._nothing! _I'm _bored!_"

The Doctor was perfectly aware that he was starting to sound like a spoilt three-year old, but sometimes he needed to let off steam and Arthur seemed to understand the necessity.

Taking a deep breath to continue his monologue, the Doctor suddenly snapped his jaw shut, his body stiffening in suspicion. Arthur caught the instant change of focus and swung round, ready for anything.

Over by the palace, in the shadows of an archway were two figures, clearly watching the Doctor. Narrowing his eyes, the Doctor recognised one of them as Reinette, which was strange enough to set off little alarm bells ringing in his mind. When she stormed off in a huff with anybody, mostly the king, it took at _least _four hours before she felt up to being anywhere near their presence. It had barely been two since she'd flounced away from him.

The one standing with her… no, he didn't recognise her. That was a little odd, but the thing that really set his back up and that had alerted him to their company in the first place was the fact that they were both staring very intently at him. And they didn't stop when he started gazing back.

Warily, in case there was more to the situation than met the eye, the Doctor strode towards the pair. When he was about 10 feet from them, a stray gust caught his overcoat, snapping the white 'wings' of the garment out behind him.

"That." Reinette spoke to the mysterious woman next to her "Exactly that." The woman nodded and scuttled away as the Doctor came up.

"Exactly what?" he asked, thrown by the cryptic statement. Reinette didn't reply, merely looked at him. Then she appeared to remember that she was still annoyed with him and wouldn't forgive him for a while yet, sniffing haughtily before making haste to follow the other's departure.

Realising that he wouldn't get anything further out of her, the Doctor let her leave.

"I wonder what that was all about," he murmured to Arthur, who had followed him. "And why I have a feeling that I really _ought_ to know…"

--- Year: 2007 ---

"You're absolutely positive on the ink dating?" the American-accented voice sounded concerned and distinctly worried.

"Yes sir, the same as the frame samples," in contrast the London accent was bordering on the hyper and over-excitedness of a small child given a new toy.

"Abso_lutely_ certain?"

"Yes sir," the British accented voice obviously didn't pick up on the desperation in his superior's question.

"You've checked?"

"_Yes_ sir,"

"Double checked?" the American voice said, in the tone of one asking whether the building was _really_ burning down, despite the evidence of screams and flames all around.

"Yes! You told me to sir!"

There was a long pause as the idea was probed, almost like a bad wound, to see if it would require amputation or just crutches.

"…But that doesn't make any sense! It's impossible!" the American exploded.

"I know sir," the other was pacifying "Sir? Is it possible that it's a hoax?"

The American seemed to consider this before replying: "If so, then it's a 240 year-old hoax. It's old ink, old canvas and an old frame. Carbon dating doesn't lie, and it's even the same _style_ as paintings which _were_ from that era…"

"Sir?" the London voice resumed its over-excitement "It's genuine?"

"Can't be," the American was quick to pounce on that notion "That suit is **_not_** circa 1760, and I don't care what the dating says,"

"Sir? What now?"

"…I don't know…Is there a name? Was this a portrait _of_ a specific person?" now the voice was cautious, wary about what might be discovered.

"There's a plaque at the bottom sir, but all it says is 'L'Ange Immortal', and then a year: '1760',"

"Okay," the American sounded firmer now, as if he had a plan "Let's assume this 'Immortal Angel' was an actual person. I want you to dig up any references made in diarys, manuscripts or documents from around 1760. Anything we have, get on it!"

"Right away sir," the subordinate jumped to his feet and started for the door, only to stop on the way for another question: "But sir… what if-…" He trailed off

"What if _what_?" the American voice snapped, irritated.

"Prime Minister!" the London accent held pure surprise in its tone.

"What if _'Prime Minister'_? Terence, what has-?" the American's snapping tone was cut off the instant he turned to actually look at the doorway where the unfortunate Terence was standing. "Prime Minister!" he also exclaimed upon seeing that very person standing at the door blocking Terence's exit.

Harriet Jones nodded recognition before entering and allowing Terence to leave.

"Err…what might I do for you Ma'am?" now the American's tone sounded like a guilty child caught with their hand inside the cookie jar.

"I have been informed that you have acquired an…_unusual_ painting."

The owner of the American voice could only nod.

"I was also told that I really ought to see it," she continued "May I take a look Mr. Harkness?"

--- Year: 5058 ---

In the silence of space, a particular key-shaped ship drifted aimlessly, its engines offline. The SS Madame de Pompadour had no living crew on board to monitor the sensors and the only living people were asleep. Two humans, tucked up inside a ship inside the outer ship that paradoxically did and yet did not inhabit a space roughly 4 feet square.

Thus, there was no one to notice the proximity scanner start chirping away to itself. There was no one to manoeuvre the ship away. There was no one to even look out of a window and see the new arrivals.

A large once-streamlined but now battered frigate pulled alongside and docked to the unresisting SS Madame de Pompadour. The ship had attracted a new set of visitors. But these were less interested in sight-seeing.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_As always reviews give me such wonderful ideas and make this story so darn LONG. Oh well, I'm not complaining as long as people like it. _

_Hee, so what do you think of the events happening in the different time periods? Spent quite a while over this chapter so hope you liked it! _

_Tai _


	7. Immortal Angel

_This chapter is a sort of interlude: not that important in the whole plot-developing category. However, it's a snippet of what the Doctor gets up to._

_Disclaimer: (something I forgot last chapter) Despite my elaborate plans that I **have** made (don't believe me, ask Lady Mearle) I regret to inform you that I own absolutely no part whatsoever of the fantastic-ness that is Doctor Who. Or David Tennant._

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**7 – Immortal Angel**

--- Year: 1760 ---

So much for his low profile. He had quickly discovered that it was impossible for him just to do nothing, to sit and watch the years go by. Not when he had the ability to travel, even if it was only in space, and on horseback at that.

His stay in Versailles lasted until the beginning of March, when he decided that he'd had enough of the King's hostile glares and pointed remarks. Something else had been bothering him though; the woman he'd first seen in the shadows with Reinette, watching him, had been almost stalking him. There had been numerous occasions when he'd had a prickling feeling of being examined, only to find her gaze fixed intently on him. There was nothing malicious about it, as far as he could tell – she just…_watched_.

It had begun to get him riled up so much that he just wanted to leave and be out of range of her scrutiny. He appreciated people looking up to him if he'd saved their lives, or the planet they happened to be living on, but the un-called for appearance of adoration was more then he wanted, especially when he was trying to be inconspicuous. Not that he was succeeding.

Principally because of what he was doing – laying the groundwork for oh-so-many characters to come. The founder of the anonymous super-hero was generally agreed to be the character of the 'Scarlet Pimpernel', but he was ahead of that creation by a good 140 years. It was his nature to meddle and interfere, in the process saving as many lives as he could. But the nature of his plight was the strict necessity of remaining an unknown. Nobody was allowed to know any sort of a name to connect with him, not if it could link him with anyone. His connection to Madame de Pompadour and her championing of him was also forbidden knowledge. He had to be a non-entity to anyone he met.

And why was secrecy so essential? Because of what he was doing: playing the super-hero. There were always people that needed helping and he was doing what he could, as he constantly did. There were also minor alien threats that needed to be stopped before they made their mark in history. His intervention was critical; history hadn't recorded any such supernatural happenings in this era and so anything out of the ordinary had to be stopped, quickly.

Of course, while he was at it the Doctor also took the time to help in more mundane fashions, against those who weren't from the other side of the galaxy. It was this that first gave him the reputation of a mysterious hero.

The earliest time was soon after he'd left Versailles: he had been aimlessly wandering along one of the 'main roads' of the time debating the period's poetry with Arthur (or rather _he_ was debating and Arthur was snorting in disbelief at him) when one of the clear sounds of trouble carried unmistakably through the air. A gunshot, the sharp crack disturbing the natural sounds of the undergrowth and leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

Arthur's head was thrown up and his ears pricked forward to the source of the noise before the Doctor gave him the go-ahead and he launched into a flat-out gallop. The terrain wasn't nearly as treacherous if they kept to the beaten track and the white horse maintained his top speed until his rider pulled him up slightly, so they could approach silently and hopefully use the element of surprise. To this end, the Doctor directed his mount off of the road and into the undergrowth so they wouldn't be instantly detected.

The still tableau was revealed as they slowly crept up to it: the traditional travelling carriage was turned sideways across the path and a man on horseback was covering the driver with a pistol. The lack of bodies sprawled on the ground led the Doctor to infer that the shot fired earlier had only been meant as a warning and not to seriously wound anyone. The demand by the armed man was probably money or jewels; it normally was in these scenarios. He'd forgotten he was now living in the age where highwaymen were a real risk for travellers.

The Doctor wasn't quite close enough to overhear any of what was being said but he could quite easily guess the gist of the conversation. It was always the same, a combination of threats, demands and promises until the unfortunate victims complied with the highwayman. And from the look of it, that moment was not very far off.

All of a sudden, the carriage door opened as the passengers inside obviously felt the desire to be included in the discussion. This distracted the highwayman from his surroundings as he had to concentrate on two different angry parties simultaneously. It created enough of a disturbance that the Doctor felt able to utilise it. Time to save the day.

Slipping off Arthur, the Doctor carefully looped the reins loosely over the pommel, allowing the horse plenty of slack. For his master plan, the one that had literally just jumped into his mind, he needed Arthur mobile enough to play a major role. He didn't even need to explain to the animal, only point at the scene unfolding and give a significant look. Arthur dipped his head once in understanding and waited, giving the Doctor a few moments to prepare himself, before acting.

For the people in the travelling coach, the scene played out as follows: the first they knew of the highwayman was a tremendous jerk before their carriage slewed crazily across the road as a gunshot cracked, probably frightening the horses into their wild manoeuvre. Raised voices followed: their driver arguing with the aggressor. Finally Madame Noixelle grew impatient and demanded her brother throw open their carriage door to see the incident for themselves. A masked man on horseback clearly held the dominant position as he covered both the now-open door and the unfortunate driver with a pistol.

An absolute age seemed to pass where all the players in the drama held position and stared at each other. They were recalled sharply to themselves by a shrill whinny and the crashing of an animal blundering through the undergrowth to the side of the track. A moment later a white horse burst onto the thoroughfare, gave another panicked cry and, seeming not to notice the people staring at it, charged off up the road.

The highwayman, having spun around to level his weapon at the perceived threat, turned back to his victims. Only to find someone else entirely standing right in front of him.

Even the driver on top of the carriage had not noticed this new appearance until that moment and couldn't say where he'd come from. The new figure was reasonably tall with an untameable mop of brown hair and fathomless dark eyes, but the thing that really made them all stare at him was his clothes. The overcoat wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it hung open revealing the true oddity beneath. Plain and drab in colour, except for the bright off-white shoes, he stood out sharply from what was considered 'normal'. He appeared unlike any other fashion that had been seen yet in the world, but he wore them unconsciously as if he was unaware of the fact.

The sudden proximity of a total stranger caused the masked man to jump in surprise and allowed the stranger to skilfully help himself to the loaded pistol, which had been held in a slack grip. With the threat removed, the newcomer turned without a word and began to walk off in the direction the panicked horse had taken.

His path took him past the carriage and there was a moment where an errant breeze caught and lifted the lower half of his coat. For an instant the material flapped out, exposing a glimpse of pure white and in that second Madame Noixelle knew what had saved her.

An angel.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

Rumours of that day spread and grew with each telling. Neither the driver or her brother disputed Madame Noixelle's claim of their saviour's divinity, in fact both of them started telling their version of the tale too. And still it intensified, almost as if they were all trying to outdo each other in telling how magnificent their rescue was.

It started off as being a panicked horse that had probably escaped from a nearby inn which had appeared by luck and grew to being a spirit in horse-form, guided by divine will to provide a distraction. In the same manner the figure started off as a strange, homeless man with strange clothes who was in the right place to help out and grew to being a manifestation of an angel who helped the innocent.

Stories of that event spread throughout France and soon came to the ears of the court, where another spin was put on it by those who remembered the non-humans who had nearly killed the King's mistress and the strange man who had arrived from nowhere, from out of a solid wall, in order to save her. They remembered how he had soon disappeared, to wander and Madame de Pompadour's references to her angel, the being who she could love and yet not have or hold onto. Connections were made between them both and the story grew.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

"A divine being, an angel they say. A creature from beyond this world walks the Earth, in the form of a man. He's here to judge us and if he finds you unworthy…well, one look and you'll believe the very Devil had damned you. His eyes are ageless and filled with the knowledge of Time itself. One look and it could drive us mortals mad!"

"…What have I _done_?" the question was muttered in an undertone right into his listener's ear, which flicked at him in response.

The Doctor was trying his hardest to blend unnoticed into the crowd where the orator was holding forth and to that end he'd wrapped his duster tightly around himself so his out-of-time suit couldn't be seen. He was standing at the back of the large crowd, holding onto Arthur's reins as he whispered to the horse and listened in horror to what his growing legend had come to. The only good thing he could see of it was that they hadn't started accusing him of being a witch and that if he was careful, like now, nobody would mistake him for the epic creature being described.

He'd heard enough. Turning around, he tugged gently on Arthur's reins to tell the animal that they were leaving. He wasn't the only one, the mass of people fluctuated somewhat as some left and others arrived to hear more of the tale.

Once he was several streets away, the Doctor un-tensed slightly as he swung himself up on the white horse's back, the tight grip he'd maintained on his coat dropping to reveal his suit again. It wasn't like he'd be staying in this village long enough for anyone to notice him.

He was nearly out of the little town before he heard the _unmistakeable_ sound of trouble: screams. And…assuming that most of the population of the area were in the square listening to the speaker then there was no one in range to hear except him. He sighed as he realised that he was going to have to go and prove his reputation as a defender of the innocent.

Arthur was perfectly willing and poured on the speed through the deserted streets until they arrived, puzzled, at the place where the screams were coming from. The only problem was there was nothing to see: no villains, no monsters, not even the person who was still screeching their head off.

Cautiously, the Doctor dismounted, leaving Arthur as he took a few careful steps up the street. One thing he had learnt in his 900-odd years was that everything was rarely as it first appeared and just because you couldn't see something was no indication that it did or did not exist. Oh yes, and that he really ought to trust the danger instinct that was making his skin tingle all over and his hair stand on end.

…

No wait, _that_ was due to an electrical field permeating the cobbles beneath his shoes and imbuing the air itself with a dangerous amount of energy. Ok, so that was not normal for French village streets in 1760… He had found the problem, now what was causing it?

After a brief glance around checking that indeed he was the only person in the vicinity, the Doctor extracted his sonic screwdriver from his inside suit jacket pocket. Turning it on and off in short bursts; he swept the device from side to side, searching for the concealed source of the electrical power. A frown grew on his face when he failed to scan anything unusual. In increasing desperation, he started to wave the sonic instrument towards the cobbles on the street.

Triumph was established as the screwdriver started beeping insistently. The Doctor grinned: _beneath_ the street? No wonder he hadn't caught it immediately.

Leaving Arthur out on the street, ostensibly to keep a lookout, the Doctor sonic-ed the closest house's door and headed for the cellar. The sounds of commotion grew louder as he raced through the building – it wasn't just one person in distress, it was just that the screamer had been the overwhelming noise until you were close enough to listen under it.

The door to the cellar was also locked, but that was no problem for his sonic tool. Flinging the heavy wooden door open, he dashed down the steps and burst through another door, this one unlocked. Then, as he looked around he wondered if he'd ever learn that just because he realises that it's a trap and that someone's in danger, it's no reason to run in without thinking. Because there's a very good reason why he shouldn't, and it's even one he's mentioned:

Because it's a trap.

And that doesn't just mean a trap for humans, little inquisitive apes that have no idea what could possibly be going on, no idea about the very real danger posed by extra-terrestrials.

It also means a trap for do-good aliens that think they know it all. An alien species for example, like perhaps a Gallifreyan Timelord. Whoops.

What he hadn't considered was that if the electrical field generated was strong enough to be clearly felt on the streets above the basement, then it was probably stronger nearer the source, exponentially so. Strong enough to maybe be used as a weapon, to injure intruders with massive jolts of lightning, powered by a machine that shouldn't exist on this world for another…four centuries?

His impetus from breaking the door down meant that he was a good three metres into the room before the machine reacted. This also meant that the bolt of crackling blue energy caught him side-on and instead of blasting him back through the entrance, it threw him bodily into a nearby wall. Deliberately letting himself go limp, the Doctor slumped down into a boneless heap. Panting slightly he lay still until the residual electricity had finished rippling over his form and grounded itself. Only then did he re-open his eyes and discretely scan the room.

The whole of the large basement-type area was buzzing as the air particles were forced as close as possible to their conducting point. Any more and the very oxygen would spark inside any humanoid's lungs and fry them from the inside out. This was a real worry as the Doctor was not devoid of company in the room; against the wall opposite huddled five people, obviously natives from the era. Some of the power provided by the generator was going into maintaining what appeared to be a small cell around the group with bars of pure energy. They were trapped there; the level of energy contained in the lightning was far greater then a human's body could sustain.

The other lifeforms in the room were the ones responsible for the generator. Even knowing that there had to be something there and being able to _hear _their chatter to each other it took the Doctor a good thirty seconds before he got the hang of determining which sparkles of energy hanging in the air were sentient. The trick was firstly in the way they moved and only after that could features be distinguished.

Whatever the electric-creatures were doing involved ramping up the output range of their generator and also required an uninterrupted feed from it. Which explained the automatic blast of energy that had targeted his moving form once he had entered the 'threat' range. It didn't want any disruptions.

Now however…he was probably well inside the radius and as such considered 'neutralised', an image reinforced by the glowing walls of his own personal electric prison. Those would make it slightly more painful, but the deed still had to be done. It took a much higher voltage level to come close to being dangerous for his physique; a fact he was as grateful for now as when he'd managed to overcome the Slitheens' electrical murder weapon back in his ninth regeneration.

So, priorities: get through the lightning 'bars' and shut down the electrical generator, hopefully permanently. The shock of losing such a powerful ambient field would probably injure the aliens enough so that they had to return to their ship to recover. And the generator itself didn't look like they could easily come up with another; if he destroyed this one it should eliminate the threat.

He had to act; now before the energy field grew too strong. Gathering himself, the Doctor surged off the wall behind him and tore through the energy barrier imprisoning him. Instantly his body was covered in raging, sparking lightning. He did slow from the attack, but not sufficiently enough for the aliens to stop him.

The five human prisoners watched in wide-eyed awe as the man leapt at the strange machine, in visible agony from the waves of electricity as he grabbed at the controls but continuing regardless. An instant later and the all-invasive hum was gone, the sparks of energy in the air unable to maintain themselves after the removal of their power source.

It took several seconds longer for the left-over energy crackling over his frame to ground itself and he retained a white-knuckled grip on the machine in front of him until he was certain the pain had diminished for good. Moving slightly stiffly from the overdose of electricity, the Doctor retrieved his sonic screwdriver and proceeded to scramble the remains of the generator, firmly ignoring the little group of people climbing gingerly to their feet. He wasn't going to talk to them if he could help it.

The instant he left, heading upwards and out they all followed him – staring with eyes full of wonder. Even then, none of them said a word to him – he wouldn't be surprised if their brains decided to go into shock and wipe the events from their memories. But it was more then just fear of him that held their tongues:

As he laboriously mounted Arthur, the aftermath of the lightning proving more troublesome then he'd have thought, the motion exposed the lining of his coat. It was only for an instant, but all of them saw it and the whispers began.

"It's the angel!"

"He saved our lives, we are blessed!"

And so the rumour spread. It told of the divine being that saved mortals from a fatal danger beyond their understanding. It told of a man who was not a man, one who would allow himself to be injured while saving others. An angel who wouldn't speak, but whose eyes told stories of time and pain and loss. And they who were saved by the angel, the rumour went; they were truly blessed in the eyes of the Lord.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

"Madame, it's finished," the woman's voice was proud as she prepared to display her latest masterpiece.

"You are certain that he didn't find out why you were watching him?" Reinette's tone was a little worried, but mostly it contained eager anticipation as she had waited three months for this to be ready.

"Of course Madame; I did not talk to him unless forced and didn't explain anything. If I may…" the artist reached for the cloth covering the frame set up on the easel. "Voila!"

Reinette could only gasp as she looked at the portrait of the Doctor, and there was no doubt for anyone that had met him that it was him. Aside from the clothes, the expression was truly his; such an intent look as he gazed out of the picture, his dark eyes focussed and seeming to actually meet the gaze of anyone looking at the portrait. He'd never posed for it, but he was so unforgettable that the artist had managed without a sitting.

Because of that, she'd taken some liberties: the background was the green grass of the top of a cliff, looking out over the ocean. The main subject was standing in an almost challenging posture, his hands shoved into his suit pockets, straight on from the viewer. The overcoat was the one Reinette had given to him and in the picture it was frozen in mid-billow, the white lining clearly visible as it fanned out to form a stylised pair of wings. Behind him on the cliff stood a white horse, obviously his and equally clearly not entirely normal. Its coat shone in the painted sunlight, making the animal seem to glow. At the bottom was an engraved plaque with the words

_L'Ange Immortal_

_1760_

written on it. After some internal debate Reinette had settled with Immortal Angel as opposed to Lonely Angel; she preferred to see as little of the melancholy that hung on him as possible.

Her portrait of him that he had refused, and now she wouldn't tell him of its existence. But she would keep her promise; to try and make sure that when she died and didn't need it any longer it was destroyed. She would leave instructions.

But instructions can always be lost…

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_I enjoyed that one! But I do apologise if this interferes with anybody's beliefs. If this is relevant to you, I'd like to point out: fan**fiction** hence not real. Thanks for your understanding._

_Now review?_

_Tai_


	8. Revelations

_And so it continues…_

_Disclaimer: Grr, schniff not mine._

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**8 – Revelations**

--- Year: 1760 ---

His 'low' profile was not helped by the constant need to help someone, to almost expose himself to the world. He knew this and yet he was physically unable to pass by if there was someone in need, someone who he could help. Possibly it was his form of retribution for the loss of his entire race and the countless other planets which had perished. If so then what he was doing was not enough to assuage the relentless guilt and it never would be. Still, it didn't stop him from trying to do what he could.

He'd left Arthur outside this particular village and entered on foot as the presence of such a beast, when no one else in the nearby community had a horse of that quality would be highly unusual and draw unwanted attention to himself. Arthur had objected, unwilling to leave him to his own devices. For some reason, that was when the Doctor always seemed to end up in the most trouble. The horse's protest had been ignored: he was a Timelord; he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Even if there was someone else around who needed help.

A soft, hardly-felt inner call drew the Doctor to a small, dingy alleyway. And a woman crouched in it, the hem of her expensive dress filthy from its contact with the ground. This was definitely out of the ordinary; by her clothes she was a member of the upper class. However, none of them would normally be caught dead in an alleyway, their clothes completely covered in dirt. There was probably an interesting story behind this. As his shadow fell across her she gasped and jumped back, scrutinising him.

Her gaze took in strange suit, the deep brown eyes and the concerned expression. The image obviously registered as she squeaked, gathered up her skirts and fled. Confusion flashed across the Doctor's face before he loped after her: in that dress she wouldn't get far, so why had she even bothered running?

He caught up with her quickly; she'd stopped in a public square that was on the point of being totally crowded, filled with upper-class men standing around and gossiping. The woman had halted and turned around to face him, the scared look entirely vanished from her countenance. It was about at this point that the Doctor's highly-trained danger instinct started prickling. He had been led, deliberately, to this square. By a consummate actress, who was now almost sneering at him as she too glanced around at the too-convenient crowd. The crowd that was now starting to pay a lot more attention to their surroundings. Specifically, him.

Some of the groups shifted slightly, cutting off all the exits from the plaza. There was, he spun round to check, no way out unless you counted going _through_ one of the packs. Cornered, and by the people he'd been trying to help. He should have known by now that humans always got suspicious, it was part of their nature. And so, in return he had to be especially wary of them, at all times. Humans were a prime example of biting the hand that fed them. Or helped them.

The actress had disappeared into the multitude, but now another person stepped forward; the spokesman of the group. The Doctor drew himself up, determined to try and bluff his way out. If nothing else, it was a strategy. Standing as tall as he could, his eyes turned flinty and hard and the people surrounding him quivered at the promise of divine retribution they could see there.

The chosen spokesperson appeared to gather what confidence he had and opened his mouth to speak. It was then that he locked gazes with the Doctor and all his carefully prepared words failed in the force of that stare. Giving a slightly pathetic whimper, the man croaked out a question:

"Are you …the angel?" This was, by the volume of catcalling from the crowd, clearly not the opening question which had been agreed upon. Different voices called out audibly from the throng of people:

"Of course he is, just look at him!"

"He is! I recognise him, I saw him at Court!"

_Oh, just **perfect!**_ the Doctor thought, mentally drawing all possible alternatives about what remained of his future. None of them lasted long. If these people had somehow connected him with the mysterious figure known as Madame de Pompadour's 'doctor' seen at the French Royal Court, his obscurity would not last for any length of time. He'd known that fame had been a bad move.

Subconsciously he upped the wattage of his stare, his dark eyes blazing with barely-restrained fury. The man gulped and couldn't seem to fade back into the mob of people fast enough. He'd had more then enough of trying to stare-down someone with that much _presence_. Thirty seconds later another had apparently been chosen to address him and was pushed forwards by the others.

"Umm…" the man began. Not a particularly auspicious start, but it was about to get worse: "Divine angel…we…umm," Throughout this attempt of communication the Doctor did not let up on his uncompromising glare, which accounted for the uncommon amount of hesitation. Finally the man squeaked and backed up, refusing to take any more of the almost-physical abuse.

This was going a lot better than he had originally hoped as for the time being he was still alive and unharmed, but he couldn't just intimidate the entire crowd of people. He needed another tactic and fast, as the horde was starting to get more then a little restless. He could even distinguish a few voices in the back that were sounding markedly unfriendly.

Mentally the Doctor prodded his brain, asking for an escape route. Preferably one which allowed him to leave in one piece, and didn't harm any innocent bystanders in the process.

The rough circle tightened a step as the mob pressed inwards, getting impatient. Firmly the Doctor resisted the urge to retreat, they were all around him and it really wouldn't help matters if he showed a weakness.

"Angel…" a broken and defeated tone caused him to whirl around to face the speaker "Where were you? Where were you when my wife died last week?"

The Doctor had no answer to that; how could there be in the face of the bereaved's grief? Try as hard as he might it wasn't possible to save everyone, no one could. That didn't stop him feeling the guilt for the ones he couldn't help, the ones he couldn't reach in time. Despite the fact it wasn't his fault, he was unable to think of their deaths as anything other then his failure. And now, with the relatives throwing their calamities right at his feet, he was only just about able to hang onto his logical reason.

Reason told him that he wasn't to blame, that they had no right to accuse him of their deaths. For all he knew about them, it was a perfectly natural cause like illness that he could do nothing about without equipment that he didn't have.

"My son…" another dejected voice spoke to him as he spun to find its source "He died…in this senseless war….Why do you allow it? Why did you sit back and let my only son be killed?" The Doctor knew that it was mostly the heartache and loss speaking, and that he wasn't responsible for this death. They were targeting him because of those he _had_ saved, not because they thought him a killer.

Even so, the judgemental faces on all sides only served to remind him of those he had lost. Their memories played past his inner eye as he felt the wracking stabs of failed responsibility.

"…I'm sorry……I'm so sorry…" the murmur was inaudible to the crowd; it had only been meant for himself in a feeble attempt to sooth his own consciousness. _No,_ now was not the time for a trip down the bloody path that was his version of Memory Lane. Not when he had to deal with an over-wrought mass of people. A mass of people that was rapidly getting out of hand.

--- Year: 5058 ---

It had been two days, seven hours and ten minutes. That was Rose's first thought upon blearily regaining enough consciousness to remember the current situation.

It was also her first thought (although the minutes had advanced) after having a shower and salvaging enough of herself to start feeling vaguely human again, instead of the walking zombie she'd been since _he_'d left.

After meeting up with Mickey and a brief discussion about the safety feature he'd found, which had turned out to be the only thing either of them had discovered which might possibly be the reason for their instant departure, Rose was back to mooching around the control room. Not a particularly productive activity, but one that helped a little. She could almost see _him_ in her mind's eye, flitting purposefully around the hexagonal console; always busy, always moving. The memory only brought pain as it served to remind her of what she wasn't, and what she currently was failing to do. Namely, find something to do to help him.

Rose's frustration levels built until the very sight of the TARDIS console was enough to make her scream. It was a futile hope, but she flung herself out of the telephone box just to see if anything had changed in the world outside.

Mickey was caught by a sudden feeling of déjà-vu reminiscent of the previous Christmas when the Sycorax had invaded. Back then Rose had raced out of the TARDIS doors leaving them to swing shut behind her and there had been a moment of quiet before she had screamed, the jarring sound calling to mind all manner of things that could have befallen her. In reality she'd been unexpectedly grabbed by one of the alien guards. Now the situation was eerily similar: as he sprinted out of the space-time ship (making certain that the door locked itself behind him) following the panicked cry he took in Rose's stunned expression as she wriggled against her current captor's grip.

There was a minute where he just stood, staring, before he forcefully reminded himself that it was different – it was not Christmas and this time the Doctor would definitely not be coming to save them.

But more importantly, these aliens were not the Sycorax. This was obvious from the instant he looked at one properly. On average they were about two feet taller then humans, with an overall broader, bulkier physique. Their eyes took up the majority of their faces and were an unvarying deep emerald colour without any white or pupil, but otherwise their features appeared roughly human, they even wore uniforms. The other, most noticeable oddity was the extra set of arms. They were extraordinarily long and could possibly be better classified as a pair of tentacles. It was this set of appendages that Rose was having no luck whatsoever of trying to wriggle out of.

One alien that wasn't holding onto Rose turned to Mickey at his abrupt appearance. Waiting until the human looked to have overcome his initial shock, the alien started humming. It was a melodious sound that seemed to harmonise with itself in different layers; the echoes bouncing and _changing_, but Mickey only heard it for an instant before the noise seemed to become ordinary English words.

"Please excuse our treatment of your compatriot, it was only startled reactions – no harm was done," Then the spokes-alien waved one of his (Mickey was pretty sure that it was male) normal arms at the being holding Rose and the tentacles' grip relaxed.

Shrugging off the now-lax appendage, Rose edged over to stand next to him. In a voice that was only barely audible when produced right next to his ear she whispered:

"It's a good thing the translator's still working…although I don't know why it should be…" it was a fair point, the TARDIS seemed to still have a connection with the Doctor as the psychic field hadn't stopped providing its rendition of the aliens' speech.

"'Scuse me?" Rose started in a louder tone, trying to get their attention "If you don't mind me asking, what species are you?" Exactly like before they could hear an instant of the hum that was the aliens' natural language before the TARDIS's version overrode it. Clearly in their language, it took longer to say things.

"Us? We are Cheynu, and quite curious what two little humans are doing all alone on this ship. Not crew are you now?" Even through the translator, his vocal tone was musical and soft, and Rose found herself easily persuaded to trust the alien.

"No," she replied "Not crew, we're just travellers. Umm…not trying to be rude, but why're you lot here? It's an abandoned ship as you know, so what brings _you_?" Against her side she felt Mickey tense and the unspoken thought running through his brain was:_ you shouldn't have asked that, just keep quiet, maybe they'll go away…_

Thankfully the Cheynu didn't seem to mind the question and offered a normal _human_ smile before humming:

"We thought there to be none left on this derelict, none to care if a few parts go… 'missing'. Prices are so high for non-humans now that we are left trying to recycle their scrap. None from their precious 'agency' is coming, so none will notice our… appropriating. _You_ do not object, surely?"

Rose couldn't stop the relieved, almost manic grin that spread over her face as she shook her head. No, she didn't mind at all if these alien 'scavengers' took what they wanted from the wrecked hulk of the SS Madame de Pompadour, it wasn't like her or Mickey could use the ship to go anywhere. She was so surprised and relieved that, finally, an unlooked-for encounter with an alien species was not about to end in her running for her life.

Maybe there was a reason for that? Maybe it was the Doctor's presence that always caused the hostilities; he was after all the _definition_ of a 'trouble-magnet'. No, she supposed it was unfair to blame him – it was just this once she'd gotten lucky on the species and demeanour of the new arrivals. Or was it that every other time they'd been _un_lucky?

Eleven of the twelve Cheynu from their ship proceeded to swarm over the abandoned vessel, poking systematically into anything that had wiring. The only thing Rose was firm about them not touching was the blue box of the TARDIS, explaining that it was hers and Mickey's, not something that originally belonged on board. The aliens had agreed not to touch it and, even better, were keeping their word. Or maybe that was due to Rose standing a protective guard over the aforementioned object.

Never mind which, there was a ship-full of aliens clambering all over the skeleton of the craft, stripping whatever parts they deemed 'useful'. Hold that thought…a _ship_-full of aliens…they had a ship, a way out. And they were friendly enough that they might be persuaded to take a couple of passengers on board.

With this aim in mind she tried to track down the one who she'd spoken to earlier, after running her idea past Mickey. He wasn't particularly in favour of it, but he disliked the notion of staying put even more: who knew when anyone else would come along and even if they'd stop to talk before blasting them senseless?

Finally she managed to locate the original Cheynu by his distinctive clothes, as he was busy supervising two others who were in the process of dismantling the workings of one of the eyeball cameras. Looking up at their approach he hummed a welcome

"Don't worry; we aren't interested in the human parts; only machinery goes on our ship."

"Right," Rose nodded, she hadn't thought about that, but nevertheless was glad to have been told "Umm…What's your name?"

As before, almost every single time she'd ended up asking this question to any species, the alien looked slightly bemused before answering;

"We are Cheynu, and I am Nadeo-Cheynu. You? And your compatriot?"

"I'm Rose Tyler and this is Mickey Smith," the Cheynu looked a little puzzled and its hum started on a questioning note.

"Rose-Tyler-Human? And Mickey-Smith-Human? Please tell me if I mistake?"

Rose restrained a giggle and shook her head; these Cheynu obviously introduced themselves by including their species - she had to remember that if she started talking to any other of the crew. But now that she knew his name, it was time to hitch a ride off of him.

"Nadeo? We're sort of stuck here…so I was wondering if-,"

"We would be so kind as to take you on board?" the purr of his voice finished her sentence for her, the amusement unmistakable even over the translation. "But of course, we were going to offer anyway as you have no apparent means of leaving this wreck."

Rose nodded her thanks, delighted to have finally found a reasonable alien race that weren't just selfishly out for themselves. It was something of a revelation to discover that they _did_ exist in the universe.

"Erm…just one other thing Nadeo?"

The hum she received in reply didn't even merit a translation from the TARDIS, but Rose assumed that if it had one the closest it would come would be 'hmmm?'.

"Would there be room on board for our blue box?" she beamed a little awkwardly, she knew how strange the request would seem to the Cheynu "It's…got sentimental value…" _Yeah, and not to mention the fact that a certain Timelord would kill the pair of them if the TARDIS got left behind._

--- Year: 1760 ---

The Doctor had never thought himself to be very good at crowd control; he preferred dealing with individuals as it made his words seem that much more personal. Perhaps that was the reason why he just stood and watched the mob whip itself up for an assault. He'd often boasted to Rose that he talked too much and that the one thing he could always do, was talk. So why couldn't he find his voice on this occasion?

The mass of people pressed inwards another step, leaving the Doctor within arm's reach of the men on the front line. They wouldn't grab him yet though, no, that would only happen once the back of the multitude had forced the circle to contract to nothingness. Then he'd be shoved downwards by the sheer number of bodies compressing inwards on the focal point, him. The kicks would start off as accidental but soon he'd be jostled around the horde and the violence would _really_ start. No one ever wanted to make the first move, but after it had begun they'd all want to have a turn. Taking out their anger at nature on someone who they believed could choose to control the natural order. A simple case of mistaken identity, but how many murders had been caused by that?

Another step inwards and their restrained violence beat against his senses like an almost-physical wave. He struggled against the urge to sway away from it; there was absolutely nowhere he could run to this time.

An animalistic cry called over the mob and the mass of people _rippled_ like a body of water. A wave of humanity heaved out from one corner of the square and the horde seemed to tighten as everybody pressed against everyone else, desperate to move. But not to attack him, the Doctor noted with no little bewilderment. Now moving in an almost-solid stream, the torrent of people flowing past him, almost like they registered his figure like a solid object to be avoided.

The braying shriek sounded again and this time the Doctor recognised it as a very welcome reprieve. _Arthur._ Somehow the horse had known he was getting into deep trouble and had entered the town to come and rescue him.

Before long a bucking, twisting, cream-coloured form emerged round the corner of a building into the main square, herding a mob of terrified humans before it. Anyone who was foolish to get too close to the horse found out the hard way that there was no taming _this_ animal. Namely by meticulous application of a diamond-hard hoof. The horse appeared to be inhuman and unstoppable.

That was, of course, until the source of the commotion reached the stationary figure who hadn't moved from the centre of the plaza. Arthur came to halt, blowing hard through his nostrils and waited for the Timelord to climb aboard, out of the sea of people.

Extremely thankful to escape an undesirable fate, the Doctor left the town immediately, while vowing to himself not to return there if he could ever help it. His cover, not that he had had much of one, was completely blown and he realised that if he wanted to visit Versailles and the Royal Court again, then he'd have to be a lot more circumspect about it.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

And so the rumour spread about those who had cornered the angel. Those who had addressed the being directly later swore that an unearthly force had pressed against their minds as they'd tried to marshal their thoughts to talk to the angel. They claimed to have felt a fraction of the power of the Lord and they soon found priests to repent their perceived sins to. The weight of the angel's gaze was agreed to be greater then mortal minds could tolerate for more then a minute or so.

The rumour spoke also of the angel's companion; a divine spirit who wore the semblance of a horse. Unlike the angel, this being could harm people in manners other then supernatural. The horse-that-wasn't packed a powerful kick and was prepared to use might to defend the angel. The pair were said to have a mission on Earth and woe betide any who interfered with them. They had been frequently seen at Versailles and so the rumour spoke that maybe their mission was with the royal family.

The rumour spread and grew with a life of its own, not needing to be fuelled by storytellers anymore. For all that everyone had already heard it, the exploits of the angel became exceedingly popular in taverns after dark.

And the Doctor would have been truly shocked to hear some of the things said of the angel, as he'd never done anything of the sort. Rumours are only based _loosely_ on evidence after all…

--- Year: 2007 ---

'_May I take a look Mr. Harkness?' _

Well, there wasn't exactly any plausible excuse he could give her to stop her from viewing the portrait. Nevertheless, his mind raced: there must be some reason or other for the memo which had reached the Prime Minister's attention. One of his superiors, having seen the picture before letting Jack get his hands on it must have registered something that Harriet Jones would want to see. The only question was what that thing had been.

Slowly he stepped back to where he and Terence had been examining the artefact, his brain flying through possibilities and suppositions. Whipping the dust cloth off Jack ignored the now-revealed painting and focussed his attention on Harriet's face. A telling expression was often only found in moments of shock and then was quickly vanished upon regaining control and he wanted to catch anything he could. Jack was insanely curious about this particular work of art and was prepared to do any amount of detecting work to get to the bottom of its mystery and her interest in it.

The PM's face was a study of utter surprise combined with recognition. She knew the man in the picture somehow; her expression couldn't be lying on that detail. Her eyes were wide as she slowly reached out a hand and fingered the air above the painting, seemingly to have forgotten Jack's existence. Any other scenario and this would have annoyed him intensely; however it worked for the ex-Time Agent for the time being. Unconsciously, Harriet mouthed a word to herself as she gazed down at the motionless man on the canvas.

"Doctor…" the sound was little more then a broken whisper, certainly not meant for the ears of her eager listener. The one who suddenly got his own healthy dose of shock; _'Doctor' _she'd said, and in the tone of voice for talking about a deceased friend. What could that mean? He knew that she'd met the Doctor, twice even: once before he had and once after; proving that both he and Rose had survived the Game Station, an incident that was becoming increasingly hazy in his own memory.

If only there was some way he could press the Prime Minister subtly for news… without disclosing the information that he'd met and _travelled_ with the errant Timelord. That fact was something that, so far, he'd managed to keep under wraps because of the knowledge of what the Torchwood institute would do to him if they knew. So he'd scrounged a make-believe past and wormed his way into a sub-division of the institute; nothing fancy like the laser technology that had been developed but close enough to hear the gossip.

The gossip that had told of the Doctor's presence on Christmas day, and of the argument between that alien and the woman standing next to him. The disagreement over the loss of an entire alien spaceship, taken to preserve the humans' existence from the rest of the universe and the reasons why it had been unacceptable to him. He even knew about the half-threats exchanged between the pair. But the fact that burned in Jack's head was that the Doctor had been _here_, so close to him and they'd missed each other. Not that the Doctor even knew that, but it had been _so damn close._

Now Harriet Jones told him that the Doctor was somehow connected with the man in the 'Immortal Angel' painting from 1760. If only she would say something a little less cryptic… As if in answer to Jack's thought she drew in a breath to continue her thought:

"It's…" _Who?_ Jack demanded mentally, but didn't say or do anything to call attention to himself. Harriet took another fortifying gulp of air "It's **_him_**. It's the Doctor…"

Jack's world spun as his mind reeled away from the simple proclamation. It couldn't be true, what had happened to _his_ Doctor, the one he'd known? What had happened to the leather jacket and the ears? Where had the piercing blue eyes gone, the ones that could see straight through to the heart of anything, be it or person or a world-threatening problem. It couldn't be the Doctor; there was no way he'd believe that.

Nevertheless… a few other loose ends would begin to add up: of course the clothes wouldn't come from the correct time period if they were worn by a time traveller. Although most of them made an effort to blend in with the local colour, the Doctor never had – that leather jacket had been an absolute surety in their madcap adventures. But…weren't _all_ time travellers careful not to leave any trace of their presence? Sometimes though, it couldn't be helped. You didn't always know when your picture was logged, and Jack was prepared to bet that this one had resulted from a time traveller's mistake. Not necessarily the Doctor's.

It was then that Jack was struck by an unanticipated revelation: a tiny memory surfaced from the back of his mind. He hadn't known about it before now as if it had been triggered by the circumstances but suddenly Jack wasn't quite so sure about it not being the Doctor. Because there was something he hadn't considered, hadn't even known about until this moment. A myth that no one had believed in…but hadn't everyone said that about the Daleks? He'd remembered another legend about the Timelords. One which might solve this conundrum…

Regeneration.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_Hee, poor Jack; blinding flash of revelation. Argh! Can't see!_

_Review?_

_Tai_


	9. Names and Meanings

_I did love Doomsday, but that's not going to happen in this fic! Rose plays a very important part, so she's NOT getting written out, got that?_

_Disclaimer: Will someone please give Doctor Who to a poor impoverished teen? No? Damn, then I don't own it._

* * *

**

* * *

**

9 – Names and Meanings

--- Year: 1761 ---

"You're leaving again, so soon?" Reinette's voice rose in protest, resolutely ignoring the frantic shushing gestures coming from the Doctor. Finally giving up on getting her to obey him, the Doctor overrode her complaints with a low murmur.

"I can't stay long enough for anyone to connect me to you."

"It's a bit late for that!" Reinette snorted, amused despite the current argument.

"Yes, but it would just give more fuel to their stories. I'm sure you've heard some of the more… _ludicrous_ ones?" the Doctor's expression held a touch of disgust; humans would always think the worst of any situation, they had a one-track mind and he'd heard enough of the supposed 'relationship' he had with the king's mistress to scar him for the rest of his existence.

In answer to his query Reinette just smiled, but a spark of mischief danced in her eyes and the Doctor knew that she had learned of them and had quite a different reaction to him.

"Look," he started, trying to come up with a compromise "I'll be there when you really need me to be, that's the way it's always been," In reality Versailles and the higher society was too dangerous for him and the next time he'd visit the Court would probably be the occasion of her death. She had less then three years left in this world, and he couldn't let her spend all of her time pining after him, she was too important to Louis XV.

The glance she gave him showed her eyes to be full of pain, but underneath that there was a shadow of resignation: she understood. The huge sigh she heaved only reinforced this image

"That's the way it has to be…" she muttered softly. "The demons and the angel…"

"I don't think there's going to be any monsters the next time I come…" the Doctor choked back his next sentence, some preservation instinct telling him that he _really_ didn't want to say that in front of her. Even so, the perceptive French woman saw some darkness in his eyes that spoke of loss and understood enough not to probe deeper.

"If that's the way it has to be…" she whispered, reaching up to trace a hand down the side of his face "À dieu, my angel…"

Unable to trust his voice to remain steady the Doctor merely nodded and turned before she could see the hollow look in his eyes. It was too much for him at times; everybody died around him leaving him to carry on alone. Such a lonely life and it grew worse every time he lost someone he knew personally. And Reinette somehow _knew_ that he would only return once more and that she would be dying by the time he arrived. He would come back only when she really needed to see him, for her last moments in this world.

Glancing cautiously around to make sure that he was unobserved, the Doctor strode away from Reinette, leaving her to continue her ride alone. His coat flapped slightly, the snow-white lining flashing for an instant.

In order to get a private audience with her without letting the entire world know that he was in Versailles he'd had to ambush the French aristocrat when she wasn't surrounded by her courtiers. This had meant several days of patient observation before the opportunity had arisen, but he considered his anonymous status worth it. Now he melted back into the same undergrowth that he'd materialised from, not leaving any trace of his passing.

Reinette sighed to herself; that was the last sight she'd have of him until she was literally on her deathbed. Mentally she tried to store the image in her memory; who was she to know how long it would be until _that_ fateful day?

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

A few days later showed him to still be in the region of the Royal Court, near the village of Bailly. It was still in the same département of France but was remote enough not to attract too many upper class visitors. All for the better in his opinion. 

The Doctor was in the process of having a guilt attack about what he'd said to Reinette. The woman was, if he was being frank, quite clearly in love with him and he'd ignored that. He'd just brushed her off and almost told her to forget about him, an impossible task. He'd had no consideration for her wishes; selfishly placing his security above her desires. Maybe it had been necessary, but that didn't stop him from feeling the pain he'd caused.

He was meandering through the forest on the outskirts of the small village while berating himself. Occasionally he would mutter imprecations directed at himself, trusting Arthur to keep them away from anybody who might be travelling through the woods and could possibly cross their path.

He didn't even really notice a throbbing pressure developing against his temples. The buzzing headache was disregarded at first, a side-effect of several days spent arguing with your conscience. The pain built until he couldn't overlook it and would have staggered if he hadn't been seated securely on Arthur's back. The horse seemed unaffected but skittered sideways, sensing the distress of his rider.

Having trouble forming any coherent thoughts through the blinding agony ripping his mind apart, the Doctor was just about able to identify the concentrated needle of now-wrenching pain as a directed psychic attack, and a powerful one at that.

The…the only aliens… capable of doing this would be…would be ……no, his pain-fogged mind was incapable of dredging up the information over the dazzling fireworks exploding inside his head. He had to get out of range, before he succumbed to the blackness that was encroaching onto the edges of his vision. This thought came too late and the Doctor was suddenly unable to do anything as the pressure in his mind spiked and he collapsed, abruptly boneless.

Arthur shrieked with indignation as the Doctor's limp form slid off his back and crumpled into a lifeless heap on the forest floor. The Timelord was unconscious by the time he hit the ground, the attack overloading his psychic capability with sheer _noise _and causing him to black out.

The white horse appeared to go a little crazy as it spun, bearing its teeth in all directions, unsure as to where the attack had originated from. An observer would note the animal's patent distress and also the unusual fact that, however it whirled and trampled the ground, it was always very careful not to step on the dark mound of the person who lay, unmoving, next to its hooves. The horse was giving off clear signals of protecting the comatose figure against anyone and everyone who might come by.

--- Year: 5058 ---

It had been two days, eleven hours and three minutes since they'd had to start coping with the universe on their own. And for the first time since that instant, Rose started thinking of the 'after' – what would they do next? What sort of life should she and Mickey try to have in this age? Should they even try and reach the planet Earth, which was probably unrecognisable from the one she knew and had grown up on? And her current most pressing question: when should they leave the Cheynu?

When they had accepted the offer of a lift and had first boarded the aliens' spaceship Rose had thought the arrangement temporary, just hitching a lift to some populated planet or station. But in the four hours since then she'd begun to make herself useful by being friendly, striking up a conversation with one of the Cheynu she hadn't talked to. After learning his name ('Izyligu-Cheynu', although he didn't object when she shortened that to 'Izzy') Rose had asked what he had been working on.

Apparently one of the Cheynu's main sources of income was transporting and archiving various artefacts unearthed from early civilisations on various different planets. One of the hardest jobs within this was deciphering and translating the various different codes and languages used on the items discovered. Rose had immediately offered to help and, amused by her, Izzy had handed her a piece that he'd written off as untranslatable.

What Rose hadn't thought of was the TARDIS's translator, which functioned equally as well with written languages. She'd begun reading the words on the artefact aloud straight away, startling Izzy to no end. He'd assumed that Rose had a natural gift with languages and had for the next hour eagerly pressed different relics on her, wanting to know the meanings behind their languages. Of course Rose was able to read all of them; due to the psychic ship inside her brain she could register all of the languages as English if she concentrated on them.

After an hour of her interpreting anything placed in front of her, Izzy had to concede that he was dealing with a gifted natural talent. Carefully storing the ancient items away, the alien whisked her up to the main bridge to talk to the captain. If possible, he explained to Rose, he wanted her to join their business partnership permanently. When she found a planet she wanted to settle down on, if she kept the Cheynu's communicator code they could keep sending her difficult translations and they'd pay her for them.

When Izzy had explained this at top speed, the hum-echoes of his voice almost discordant in his excitement and urgency, Rose had only latched onto one concept: money. If she could get paid for doing this, something she didn't really have to work at whatsoever, then it could definitely help hers and Mickey's future. The Doctor had always been very vague about money, and indeed on their travels with him it had never truly been necessary. But now, faced with the predicament of trying to live in an unfamiliar time-zone, money and therefore employment became a top priority.

The captain Nadeo was also very enthusiastic once Izzy had raved about her ability at length and seconded the idea to bring her into their arrangement. Rose had merely nodded; it seemed almost _too_ easy; she could get paid for something the TARDIS was doing _for_ her. Obviously translation programs in this era were not as advanced as the Doctor's beloved machine.

It was then that Mickey had wandered onto the bridge in his attempt to explore the Cheynu's ship and had demanded to know what was going on. Rose had given an explanation in a hurried whisper to make him understand that she was thinking of what future they now had. When she had finished and turned back to the watching aliens Captain Nadeo had spoken up, his excitement now under control;

"Maybe you want to think on this, yes? It's a big decision that Izzy seems to have made for you. Think for yourself, answer later?" the hum ended on a questioning note. Somehow the nuances and expressions of their speech sounded clearer now that they were on their own ship. It only made sense: the Cheynu designed their acoustics to work with their language, but it _did_ make a big difference if you weren't expecting it.

In answer to Nadeo's question Rose nodded, thankful that the alien understood.

"Umm…" Mickey began and Rose had to choke back a snicker at how close he was to speaking the Cheynu's language "Just…who are you?" this was directed at Izzy, but it was the captain who answered

"Mmmm, how inconsiderate of us – we have not introduced anyone. Allow me:" firstly he gestured with a tentacle at the two humans "This is Rose-Tyler-Human and Mickey-Smith-Human and here we have our archaeology specialist; Izyligu-Cheynu and our chief pilot…" the introductions continued around the bridge with each alien nodding or waving an appendage at their name.

Only five of the twelve Cheynu were on the bridge at that time but Nadeo mentioned the others in passing. The whole group of aliens that ran the spaceship weren't family (apart from two pairs of siblings) but they were as tight as a group of friends could be, depending as they were on one another for their current existence. The ship they ran was a heavily-converted frigate, adapted to have an abnormally-large cargo bay for all of the 'items' they transported for various customers.

After a couple of days spent on the ship (four days, fourteen hours and thirty-eight minutes since …_then_), Rose and Mickey knew each of the crew well enough not to slip up on their names, especially since several of them made it slightly easier by having simple nicknames. In turn Rose had managed to get all of the Cheynu referring to her by just her first name. In trying to emulate this success, Mickey had succeeded in getting all of them to call him "Mick'-'man"; although to start with he hadn't been going for this. The reason was that the chief mechanic was called 'Myckixih-Cheynu' a name that everybody had already shortened to 'Mycki' and nobody wanted too much confusion with having two people respond to the same name.

Mickey had kept silent on finding out Rose's new 'job', not revealing the fact that he could perform the same task with as much ease. It was better if the aliens weren't looking for some concealed advantage that allowed them to understand any spoken or written language.

The parts that had been 'liberated' from the SS Madame de Pompadour were mostly just stored in the large cargo bay, unused. A few of the wires and more exotic devices were gradually spliced into the framework of their vessel, a task that most of the crew seemed familiar with. Indeed, the overall look of the ship was a cobbled-together collection of wires that only stayed flying due to the dedicated efforts of the two mechanics. The wiring and adjustments were kept as logical as possible and Rose often found herself mentally comparing the Cheynu's ship to the TARDIS. An unbalanced association at best as only the Doctor understood the haphazard modifications he'd done to his ship and the Cheynu's technology was nowhere near as advanced.

She and 'Mick-man' had both declined the offer of cabins on the ship, preferring the familiar confines (not that it was at all confining) of the TARDIS. Also Rose thought better of the TARDIS's ability to withstand anything that was thrown at it: if something happened they'd be better protected inside the blue box.

None of the aliens said anything about the random out-of-place telephone box that was taking up a small corner of their cargo bay, but Rose could tell they all held an unspoken curiosity about it. It was only their good manners preventing them from bringing it up, as well as the fact that they were almost certain they would get nothing out of their unexpected guests.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

Rose was 'off-duty' after an hour spent with Izzy and she was amusing herself by poking around inside the massive cargo bay, seeing the bits and pieces the Cheynu had amassed. 

One of the doors slid open and Rose glanced over, curious who else would be coming into the holding area. One of the female Cheynu glided through and nodded at Rose. After a moment of frowning consideration, Rose recognised her as the assistant medic, Zijackuln-Cheynu. The full medic, her older sister, had always called her 'Zee' and the rest of the crew had followed suit. Now, what was the assistant medic looking for in the cargo bay?

A minute later, Zee wandered over to Rose and hummed what sounded like a query. The ex-London shop girl waited a moment for the music to translate itself inside her head. And carried on waiting, the grasp of the language remaining beyond her reach. It took a split second before Rose could take in the reality – she _wasn't_ getting a rendition in English. This meant… that there was something wrong with the TARDIS or…

_The Doctor. _The translation circuit hadn't worked when he'd been in the throes of his regeneration sickness, almost like he'd been part of the machinery required to make it function. He was in trouble now and she was stuck _here_, well out of the right time to help him in. And…Zee was still waiting for a reply to whatever she'd said.

Thinking fast, Rose squeaked and shook her head; trying to imply that she didn't know the answer to whatever had been asked. Turning before Zee had a chance to continue the one-sided conversation, Rose lunged for the safety of the TARDIS.

Making sure the wooden door was firmly shut behind her Rose glanced around the familiar environment of the control room, wishing fervently for the return of its owner. There was something desperately wrong with him, the lack of translation proved that; but whatever it was, he'd have to cope with it on his own. There was no way she could reach him, not now.

Rose gloomily wondered what had gone wrong and what kind of scale the threat was on_ this_ time. She contemplated the likelihood of him enduring another regeneration and what he'd end up looking like – if he'd get to be ginger. Whatever was happening she could do nothing about it, absolutely _nothing_. Except sit here and pray for him to come out unscathed and do it _quickly_ before her or Mickey ran forcefully into the large language barrier that hadn't existed before.

_What's happening to you Doctor? Are you still alive? Will you even be **my** Doctor when I see you again?_

--- Year: 2007 ---

Jack glanced again at the picture in front of him, trying to connect the image of the younger, admittedly good-looking, new form of the Doctor with the leather-jacketed individual of his memories. He knew intellectually that they were the exact same person; Harriet Jones wouldn't be mistaken in something like that, it was just…they were too different.

Slowly, the ex-conman turned to the Prime Minister, who was still immersed in her own thoughts. Now would probably be the best time to get information out of her, while she wasn't really paying that much attention to what she saying. A little unsure of how to proceed, he opened his mouth and coughed slightly to get her attention.

"That's…the Doctor? The man you met around the time Number 10 was bombed?" the trick was to start simple – get her answering harmless questions to loosen her restraint.

Slowly Harriet nodded. Then she paused and shook her head a little. Jack almost groaned aloud in frustration before she decided to explain:

"It's the Doctor, I suppose it's the same man as then…but it isn't: he's changed. But it _is_ the Doctor I met at Christmas, and he convinced me that he was the same. Rose thought so too…"

_Great, fine. One up for the regeneration theory, _Jack thought. _Hold on… what had she just said?_

"Rose?" he asked, then mentally kicked himself for the tone of desolation that he'd pronounced the word with. Clearing his throat and grabbing a firm handle on his emotions the ex-time traveller tried again: "Rose Tyler? The one who was with you, running through Downing Street? She was there at Christmas?"

Luckily Harriet hadn't seemed to notice the familiarity with which he'd said Rose's name and replied quite normally

"Yes…Rose Tyler, the Londoner. She was still with him and she insisted he was the same person. Even though when I first saw her on the Sycorax ship she claimed she was alone and that the Doctor wasn't with her…but then he was…although he behaved like an amnesiac, asking lots of questions about who he was…" She had ensnared Jack's full interest now, as this was something that had definitely _not_ made the official report.

"Was this man acting like a schizophrenic?" he asked carefully, trying to prompt more information.

"No…he insisted he was the Doctor but he went on asking about his personality; it was like he didn't know. But he remembered something I'd said to the other Doctor, and there were some things he said that just… persuaded me. He _is_ the Doctor, he deserved that name for how he dealt with the Sycorax, even if he's not really the same man-," Harriet Jones seemed to snap out of whatever trance the portrait had put her in and looked at Jack sharply "Excuse me young man, but what is your interest in that affair?"

_Damn, rumbled!_ Jack hastily cudgelled his brain for an excuse, no matter how feeble. It was almost certainly better then her, and consequently Torchwood, finding out the truth.

"I…err… I was just wondering how a man you met at Christmas could be in a portrait from 1760, without looking any different."

"How do you know he doesn't look any different?" The Prime Minister narrowed her eyes at the American suspiciously.

"I just thought …umm…from your reaction to the picture, you must have recognised him instantly." Mentally breathing a sigh of relief, Jack congratulated himself on his quick thinking as the PM looked mollified.

"Well, pretty much. Except that the last time I saw him he was only wearing a pair of pyjamas." Jack just looked blank, mentally trying to fit the personality of the Doctor he'd known into 'saving the day wearing pyjamas'. Obviously the regeneration had changed him quite a lot; as he was giving himself a minor headache in his attempt to picture the scene with the previous Doctor.

Saving the day while looking like he'd only just gotten out of bed. Jack filed that thought carefully away, under the list of things that he had to talk to the Doctor about when he met him again.

Jack Harkness refused to believe that he'd seen the last of the Timelord on the Game Station, when he'd seen the blue box fading from view. Rose had met up with him again after he'd sent her away, so in his mind Jack rejected the idea that it wasn't possible for him.

He would find the Doctor again, even if all he did after that was ask _why_ he had been left behind.

--- Year: 1761 ---

After a good ten minutes of whirling and snapping at the slightest provocation (mostly small animals and wind-rustled leaves), Arthur conceded that there was no immediate danger and also that he needed some help to cope with the Doctor in his present state.

Whickering softly to himself several times, the white horse reluctantly left the motionless figure of the Doctor on the ground. Setting off, he started trotting purposefully in the direction of the village of Bailly. Less then three minutes had passed before he came tearing back to the lifeless body, snorting anxiously as he checked for any threats. Simply put, Arthur would never make it as far as the village since he was unwilling to leave the Doctor alone and defenceless. _Something_ had taken him out of action, probably maliciously, and that meant deserting the Timelord was out of the question while in this area.

So, the only other option was to make as loud a racket as possible and hope that someone noticed him. This decision having been reached, Arthur threw his head back and shrieked, his neigh carrying on the wind.

Good fortune seemed to favour the pair as, less then ten minutes later, two figures could be seen picking their way through the trees towards them. Instantly on alert, Arthur tensed and froze, scanning the newcomers. Both female, a mother and her eleven/twelve year old daughter by their attitudes. They'd evidently heard some sort of noise in the forest and gone to investigate; Arthur supposed that he'd have to reveal his problem to them.

Whickering just loud enough to get their notice Arthur looked them straight in the eye before dropping his head to nuzzle the Doctor where he lay on the ground. From where the two humans were standing it just looked like he dipped his head to the soil, but they got the message the horse had been trying to convey and slowly they wandered over. Once they were closer, the body of the unconscious Timelord was clearly visible and they understood the horse's distress.

It was also apparent that they recognised the lifeless form. The older woman froze as soon as she was close enough to identify the body, her mouth dropping open in shock. The girl's eyes widened and she raced forwards to kneel by the Doctor's side.

"Ange…" the girl whispered, disbelieving the sight in front of her. "Mama! C'est _lui, _c'est l'ange!"

Arthur whinnied to recapture their attention before nosing the Doctor's side again, trying to hint a message. Luckily the mother unfroze from her stupor and understood what the animal was after. Nervously she reached out tried to sit the limp form upright.

Seeing her problem, Arthur knelt down next to where the Doctor lay and tried to worm himself under an inert arm. Immediately comprehending what he wanted, both mother and daughter helped arrange the unconscious body astride the horse.

Once they'd finished Arthur refused to move, aware that if he tried to get up, the Doctor would simply slip off him again without anything to hold him on. Fortunately, the mother swiftly came to terms with this new development and in hurried French instructed her daughter to sit behind the figure on the horse and hold him in place while she led them back to the village.

Thus the strange procession led off, Arthur being extremely well behaved and maintaining a steady walk in an attempt to keep both his passengers secure. Once in the village, the mother led straight to one particular house, one with its own stables and reasonable sized grounds. The nearest house _was_ right next door but at least the walls weren't pressed up against each other.

After a rapid-fire debate in French, the pair manoeuvred Arthur right next to an open window. With both of the women inside, they slid the unresponsive body off the horse's back and transported him to the bed in that room.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

They both were almost terrified of touching the form of what they perceived to be an angel and so merely left him lying on the bed fully dressed. A worried glance was exchanged and then they both reluctantly shuffled out, their chores demanding their attention. 

As soon as the door had been fully closed the Doctor's eyes snapped open. He needed to extract himself from the building quickly and without any of the household noticing. He had no desire to be stuck in a place that humans _knew_ about. It was good luck for him that these people were not wealthy enough to afford servants; that would have made leaving undetected a lot trickier. Also, it seemed as if only the mother and her one daughter were in the house at this time; only two humans he had to evade on his way out then.

He'd woken up at about the time that he'd been conveyed through the window but he'd kept quiet and still; unwilling to draw notice to himself. Not when he could leave without anyone the wiser.

In one single move he surged fluidly upright and off of the bed, trying his hardest not to make a noise. Pain flared across his temples at the rushed movement and his legs suddenly turned to jelly, unable to support him. There was a noisy crash as they buckled and he thumped down onto his knees, his hands splaying out on the floor to act as a brace. His head hung down between his shoulders while he struggled with the after-effects of his blackout.

So much for his plan of sneaking out unnoticed; the loud thud had, predictably, brought the occupants of the house running. The door was flung open and the two women who had found him rushed in.

Some preservation instinct screamed at him to get up on his feet and not appear helpless before people who could possibly do him harm, even if not in the physical sense. Concentrating through the haze that had mired his connection with his body the Doctor succeeded in lurching upright; although he had to lean heavily against the wall to remain so.

In fact, it wasn't actually his limbs that felt numb and 'not-there', it was his brain. The sheer amount of psychic energy that had been channelled through his mind, however briefly, had temporarily dulled his senses in general. His trouble in thinking and reacting at the moment could all be attributable to side-effects from whatever had assaulted him back in the forest.

Seeing him on his feet, the mother asked him something in a concerned tone of voice, a complicated French sentence that _remained_ stubbornly French and un-translated. _What? _…Of course: his link to the TARDIS and therefore the translation circuit was still intact, it was just so numb he couldn't feel it and would have to concentrate to use it.

Scowling, he focussed and _reached_ inwards to where he _knew_ his mental link to be, despite being unable to sense anything. He still had the capability, that hadn't been burnt out by the attack, he just couldn't detect it. It was something like trying to sprint when both legs had been heavily anaesthetized – possible but requiring immense single-mindedness while being unable to feel anything. Reaching up, he massaged his temples against the building annoyance.

Luckily the mother interpreted his frown to mean that he had a raging headache and didn't quite get what she had said. She repeated the question, slower this time:

"Divine being, how may we be of service to you?" He sighed explosively, letting out a breath he hadn't been aware that he'd been holding. Relief at the working translation vied with the feeling of being utterly drained. After several attempts he got his jaw working enough to reply

"I'll just…thank you for your assistance… but I'll just be off now…" they parted to let him through. It had been his intention to leave without any delay but that target was revised the second he shifted his weight to take the first step.

His legs subsided underneath him and he would have ended up on the floor again if he hadn't changed his mind at the last possible instant and stayed where he was, clinging to the wall for support. In his current state it was only possible to concentrate on one thing at a time and the Doctor decided that since he didn't look to be in any immediate danger he could afford to rest and recover.

"On second thoughts," he added to the waiting humans "I'd very much like to have some time to rest. If it is acceptable I'd like to use this room?"

Both the mother and daughter bowed before backing out of the door, pulling it gently closed. The Doctor was left staring at the back of the wooden door where they'd been before choosing to make the most of what he'd been given. Stumbling back over to the bed he flopped down full-length onto it, his eyes drifting shut as the unnatural exhaustion demanded more recovery time. He'd just have to trust his luck that nothing untoward would happen while he was out of it.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

_I know it's taken me a while to get this up; I haven't had the time to write. And the next one will be an even longer wait as I'm going to France for two weeks. …Sorry!_

_Review anyway?_

_Tai_


	10. Godspeed

…_Just don't mention the date ok? I know it's (very) late and well…yeah_

_Disclaimer: If I owned the sheer wonderfulness that is Doctor Who, do you think I would have let Rose leave so soon? Hmm? AND I would have given him a **different** suit then the one they have for the third series. It's blue! Euurgh! Never thought I'd say this but – brown pinstripes all the way!_

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

**10 – Godspeed**

--- Year: 1761 ---

A muffled groan announced the Doctor's return to consciousness. It was muffled due to the fact of his head being buried in the pillow and his lazy unwillingness to shift it. This changed the instant his mind worked its way up to speed; his eyes flying open as he ran a quick mental checklist. First in line he was relieved to notice no lingering after-effects from the psychic attack – everything felt perfectly normal, except for the over-abundance of energy he now had. _That_ was caused by him sleeping too much, or plain sleeping at all. Oh well, he could put his liveliness to good use and find the reason for his blackout.

This goal in mind, the Doctor reached for the door handle and the way out, running a hand through his distinctly stuck-up hair as he did so. Ah, the perils of stopping for a nap.

Arthur was overjoyed to see him up and about again and showed this by positively _bouncing_ around him. The Doctor allowed the horse a few moments but halted the animal abruptly after a few too many over-enthusiastic nibbles and head butts.

Swinging himself up, the Doctor nudged Arthur out of the small village and back amongst the trees. He was actually trying to trace the route he'd been taken in by. If he could find the spot where he'd been knocked unconscious it might be possible for him to trace where the attack had come from. Or at least, that was his theory.

He let Arthur do most of the job of selecting their path as the horse had been the only one of them conscious when they'd taken it. There was nothing for a good ten minutes while they picked their way through the over-grown forest before they began to near the place where he'd collapsed.

It started gently, a whisper threading through his mind – a slight uncomfortable buzz that promised much more. How he'd failed to notice the signs the first time round really was quite embarrassing. It was lucky that he had no companions around to tease him. Verbally at least.

Stopping Arthur dead, the Doctor dismounted and backed up a few paces until the mental pressure was perfectly bearable. The only problem was that he couldn't get any closer, not without a repeat of before. And he couldn't really ask Arthur to go and fix the problem as it needed someone with hands. This meant…he heaved a sigh as he realised that he was going to have to use the girl who'd helped him. She was the only human close enough that he felt any justification at all in asking, he did feel guilty but the job had to be done.

After impressing on Arthur the wish that the horse return to the village for Marie, the Doctor mentally explored the sensation in his mind. It was beating against his senses in an implacable, almost machine-like fashion. For this reason, the Doctor didn't believe the waves of psychic power were emanating from an alien. Rather, an alien had perhaps set the system up and then left it to its own devices. But for what purpose?

By the time Arthur returned, Marie on his back, the Timelord had figured out an answer to his conundrum. Hopefully it was the right one, because otherwise he'd be sending an innocent girl into a potentially dangerous situation.

"Okay," he started, gazing up at her "I want you to take Arthur and go in a straight line in…" he spun before pointing a finger decisively through the vegetation "_That_ direction and you should come to a –err…ummm… a box. About so (he gestured) high and I want you to look inside the box. Don't touch anything that looks like lightning, it'll bite. But there's a …err… a ball, about the size of an apple and I want you to take it out – you can touch that. And then I'll come and deal with it, got that?"

Marie looked confused, although it wasn't at his explanation

"But…milord, why would you want _me_ to do this?" she was genuinely puzzled and her face held only innocent perplexity.

"It's …complicated. Put simply: it hurts me because I'm not like you. It's why you found me passed out, too much pain if I get too close and…" he trailed off, but he'd said enough for her to draw her own conclusions.

"Of course," she breathed "Beings of pure good cannot touch something which radiates absolute evil; you are not entirely of this world, are you really?"

"Well, umm, you've got something right, now if you would?" the Doctor nodded in the direction he'd pointed out, in a hint for her to get on with her mission.

As Arthur picked his way carefully past the stationary Timelord, he snapped a quiet, last-minute instruction to the horse:

"Future technology, make sure she doesn't do anything…human," with that he was left staring hopelessly after the departing pair, unable to follow them because of being something other then human. Actually, it was because he was a little bit psychic that he'd been attacked. It wasn't that the machine discriminated – it was just that having something feed off his psychic energy _hurt_ whereas a human wouldn't, _didn't_ even notice it.

Their psychic auras could be completely removed and not one of them would even register the loss. A shame, but this fact had protected them in this instance. It also meant that he could use a human to get close enough to disable the device while he was stuck back here with only his imagination for company. Oh, and the ever-present waves of mental power beating against the inside of his head, however reduced they were. If Marie could just remove the combined power source-psychic repository then he would be able to move closer and do something permanent to the unit.

An indeterminable period of time passed before he got his wish; the flux of energy was abruptly gone between one emission and the next. Letting out a whoop of relief that he'd deny later, the Doctor leapt into a sprint in the direction he'd indicated the attack had emanated from. His coat flapped around his ankles from his speed, revealing the snow-white angelic lining to any potential witnesses. It was perhaps a good thing for him that the forest was deserted.

Tearing through some of the denser undergrowth, about five minutes later the Timelord reached the clearing where Marie and Arthur were waiting. The white horse was standing off to the side; his head tilted as he glared indiscriminately at the poorly-concealed, obviously-alien contraption, the young French girl, and the item she had cupped protectively in her hands. Marie herself was totally entranced by the small glowing white sphere that she was holding up close to her face.

From where he was, the Doctor could practically _see_ all her unusable psychic energy (which was every bit of it, her being human) streaming into the orb. Well, in a sense he could. It was rubbing one of his senses (one that humans didn't have) raw with the sensation of something being drawn out of her. If it had been happening to him it probably would have killed him already.

Shuddering at the thought, he walked up behind her; producing the sonic screwdriver as he did so. She was so entranced that she didn't even register his presence until he was kneeling next to her, poking the sphere with it and being careful not to touch the orb with his skin. Even without the boosting matrix the object was still dangerous to him; its area of effect was just sharply limited. To touch. For the item to drain him of his psychic energy, he needed to physically hold the thing in his hand. And he wasn't quite stupid or suicidal enough to try it. Not today at any rate.

"What _is_ it?" Marie breathed, her eyes still locked upon the steady white glow.

"Oh? It's called a Kiienyin globe. Psychic power source." They were in fact, exceedingly rare items and would sell for a weighty sum on the black markets of any number of shady planets and space stations.

"It's _beautiful_," she whispered, unwilling to look away from its light.

"Also remarkably captivating, if you're not prepared for them. Now, put that away," the Doctor waved a hand loosely at her pockets "And don't let anyone know you have it, or they'll want to take it off you."

Stung by the notion, Marie hastily buried the ball in several folds of her dress and looked up at him. A few moments later her gaze turned to puzzlement

"Angel? Aren't you going to take it?" her voice held an element of worry; she really didn't want her new-found toy taken off her. However, she also realised that it wasn't hers to keep – but that didn't stop her from wishing. Producing the sphere again, the young French girl gripped it tightly before offering it up to him. The Doctor stuck his hands firmly into his suit pockets to ensure he wouldn't accidentally bring his skin into contact with the item.

"No, I told you I can't. I'm giving it to you and your family for a while; feel you can look after it? Think of it like a temporary heirloom – I'll be back for it one day."

"Of course, milord," the globe vanished again, as if she'd never held it out to him "But for how long do you wish me to keep it?"

He blinked and thought hard about the question, a hand rising subconsciously to rub the back of his neck "Oh, umm about…say about…two hundred and…forty years? Ish?"

Marie was completely taken aback but after a second or two recovered enough of her composure to give a deep curtsy and murmur "The will of the Lord," before picking her way carefully through the undergrowth.

"Don't worry!" he called after her retreating figure "I will be back to check on you in about…a decade! Remember not to let _anyone_ know!"

A few minutes later and she was gone, heading back to her house and whatever chores Arthur had interrupted her performing. This left him alone with the alien booster matrix and a horse that was silently giving him a piece of his mind.

He understood the animal's concerns, understood and sympathised completely: it was wrong and dangerous of him to entrust something like that to a mere human child. The number of things that could go wrong and escalate into a full-scale disaster was absolutely staggering and multiplying for every second that she held it.

However he didn't truly have a choice in the matter – if he had taken it, if he'd even _touched_ it for a second he'd be dead right now. Or if he wasn't, he'd be wishing with all his might that he was. He could do nothing to keep Marie and her family out of danger except trust to the one thing which was more capricious then the laws of his own people: sheer dumb luck.

Fortune had always served to keep him alive when he'd run out of master plans and yet never failed to land him in the worst of trouble. He could only hope that the Lady Luck would be kinder to Marie Collet and hers.

_Collet…_ he mused, how appropriate. The word was French and literally translated to mean a snare or a noose. The family had ensnared him, guaranteeing his return and he could only hope they wouldn't turn out to be a strangling noose around his neck.

He would eventually find a use for the Kiienyin globe, something deep within his mind was absolutely positive of that fact. This meant that he couldn't destroy it and had to sort of know where it was – thus he'd hit upon the idea of entrusting it to humans. Materialistic creatures that they were, the Collets would never give the sphere up, not when they could safely say that no one else in the world had one like it.

Sparing a final look round, he gestured to Arthur and then pointed at the conduit of alien technology that was only waiting for the return of the orb to become a fully functioning weapon again.

The white horse whickered, positioned himself and then speedily dismantled the mini-console with one hard kick. A semi-contemptuous sneer lifted a corner of the Doctor's mouth – if _he'd_ built it, it would be able to stand up to more then one kick. But that was beside the point. His work done, the Doctor swung himself up on to Arthur's saddle and nudged the horse away from the village of Bailly.

He'd remember this village and this family and he'd be back. But right now, the Doctor was getting the itch to be on the move again, to not let the legend of the angel catch up with him if he could help it.

* * *

--- Year: 5058 ---

It had been four days, nineteen hours and fifty-three minutes since they'd been abandoned and the pain was almost as fresh as the instant she'd realised that he _wasn't_ coming back. She'd adjusted enough to understand and see it from his point of view – the saving-the-universe way of seeing it, but that didn't really help the pain of desertion. Not much at any rate.

It had also been about thirty minutes since Rose had legged it into the TARDIS, the blue box providing a haven away from the reality of the broken translation circuit. If there was no one talking to her, she wouldn't have to face up to the fact that she couldn't understand them. In here, she could pretend that everything was okay and that any moment now, the Doctor would waltz in (not literally, although if he'd had enough sugar he might) and ask her why she was looking so gloomy.

Any… Moment… Now. …_Now_.

…Now? Blinking back tears before they had a chance to fall, Rose grimly faced up to the truth that she was _really_ stuck this time. And worse, there was no Doctor around to un-stick her. The translation, or lack of, would prove a massive hurdle to overcome; unless he'd gotten himself out of whatever fix had caused it.

She ought to have more faith in him: he was a 900 year-old-plus alien and he'd been around enough, surely he could look after himself? Wincing, Rose thought back to their many adventures together – most of which had been started by him doing exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time in front of the wrong people. Okay, so maybe she couldn't rely on him to fix this problem; not if he was hurt enough to break the translation circuit.

Pulling herself together, Rose rested a hand on the TARDIS door in preparation to open it. She needed an update, even if it was just to find out that she still didn't understand the Cheynu and probably never would again. She _needed_ to know.

Slowly pulling the pseudo-wooden door open, the time traveller poked her head out and carefully scanned the cargo bay for a suitable test. Her eyes lit upon three of the female Cheynu – the secondary pilot looked to be having an argument with both of the specialised mechanics. Or at least she was facing them semi-aggressively and flailing her tentacles around in seeming frustration.

As the pilot, Drazaylikkit-Cheynu (Kit for short) had her back to where the TARDIS was parked; Rose could currently catch no more then hummed murmurs on the absolute edge of her audible range. Edging closer, Rose strained her hearing to listen to what they were saying - if it would resolve itself into English for her.

"…telling you they gave out on me _again_! This would never have happened if you'd installed the stabilisers _before_hand. _Then_ the wiring would have been the right way round, and the stupid things wouldn't keep getting crossed and shorting out!" Kit was clearly in full rant mode but Rose had never been happier to hear a shouted argument in her life.

She could understand what they were saying. Alright, that wasn't strictly true – she had no idea what Kit wanted the mechanics to do. But to her ears, they were speaking English and therefore the translation was back up and running. Which meant that the Doctor was better, or well enough to function as part of the circuit again.

This solved a lot of problems that only now began to manifest themselves in her mind. She and Mickey appeared to be totally cast off, left on their own to cope in the universe. But still, they were utterly dependant on the Doctor, or at least upon his wellbeing. If something permanent were to happen to him…Rose blocked that unwanted thought out of her brain. _Not_ something she cared to consider.

* * *

--- Year: 1764 ---

(Yes, skip three years)

It was nearing the end of March before his brain decided to remind him about the date. Or rather, what date it would be soon.

Completely and hastily abandoning his tour just over the border of Belgium, the Doctor whirled Arthur around and made a beeline for the Palace of Versailles. It wasn't too late he told himself fiercely, he could make it before April.

He'd just realised that Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson, better known as Madame de Pompadour, better known to him as Reinette had less then three weeks left to live. The date of her death was fixed in history and couldn't be changed, not by any outside event and _certainly_ not by him. Too well did he know the consequences of trying to keep a person past their appointed time, so it was left for him to reach her before the set date of her death. Reach Versailles before April the fifteenth.

In fact it was April the ninth when he finally reined in at the open palace gates. Even without knowing about the immanent departure of one of its most loved inhabitants it was easy to tell that something was wrong.

The atmosphere of the building was entirely different, even from when he had last been there – there weren't any servants happily gossiping in the midst of their chores. The only people he could see hurried about their business with their heads lowered and a pallor of gloom and despondency upon their faces. The mood of the place was distinctly sombre and the cloud of her death hung almost visibly over the citadel, tinting its beauty with a darker, more sorrowful side. For an instant he fretted that he had come too late and she had already passed away. But then the Doctor kicked himself; history dictated the day of her death and she would survive until then.

Notwithstanding of course repair droids from the 51st century trying to take away her brain.

Sliding nimbly off Arthur's saddle while the horse was still moving, the Doctor raced towards the entrance without bothering to visit the stables. Arthur was sufficiently intelligent to cope on his own long enough for the Doctor to reassure himself that this time he wasn't too late, and he still had time to say a proper farewell.

Charging past the multitude of servants and attendants trying to intercept him, the Timelord launched himself up the staircase, overcoat streaming out behind him. Any who saw the lining pressed themselves tightly against the walls, so as not to block the angel's path. Previous wanders around the rambling building came in extremely useful as he knew precisely where to find the room Reinette had designated 'her' bedroom. It was the most likely place to find her if she was seriously ill.

Later, he thought it had been one of the most attention-commanding entrances he'd ever made. Certainly everyone in the room had noticed him. Without pausing, the Doctor had burst through her doors, inadvertently slamming them open, and then checked sharply on the threshold to her room, his eyes instinctively seeking hers. Totally ignoring King Louis, he searched her features to set his mind at rest that he really wasn't too late and that, for the moment, she was still alive.

Total silence reigned in the sickroom for about two minutes as he took in the fact that, although she was still in this world her health was nowhere near what it had been the last time they'd met. She appeared shrivelled, a mere shadow of what she'd been and seemingly unable to leave the bed where she lay. She'd withered in a mere three years, embodying what he'd always maintained about human fragility. But she was still here, for the time being at least.

Taking a deep breath and clearly using a lot of effort, Reinette spoke:

"My lonely angel… you came back for me,"

"You can't get rid of me," he joked, forcing one of his usual smiles into place. It was so challenging to maintain the aura of nothing being wrong when she was in this condition, but for her he would try his hardest.

"My angel, I wrote you a letter…just in case you didn't make it in time," turning to the king she asked in a small voice "Could you…?"

Without a word, Louis fished in a small drawer on the other side of the room, before removing a single wax sealed sheet of paper. Stiffly, the King of France handed this to the alien his mistress had fallen in love with.

Not even sparing the disgruntled monarch one glance, the Doctor worked his fingers under the seal and shook the paper out, scanning the short paragraph written on it:

_My dear Doctor,_

_The path has never seemed more slow and yet I fear I am nearing its end. Reason tells me that you and I are only likely to meet again for one final time and I am afraid that time draws close. I do not fully listen to reason though, and I wish to touch the stars, or just to see them a little closer. For I have seen the world inside your head and know that **all**__things are possible._

_Hurry though my love, my days grow shorter now and I am so very weak,_

_Godspeed my lonely angel_

While he scanned the words for the third time, Reinette somehow indicated to the king that she wanted a moment in private with the new arrival. Somewhat huffily, Louis left, shutting the door slightly more firmly then was strictly necessary.

As soon as he had definitely left, she drew another laboured breath and managed to ask:

"Tell me Doctor, how long do I have left? Speak truly for I would know this,"

He blinked, completely floored for a moment before replying with a too-bright smile "Oh, ages yet I should think,"

Reinette's look sharpened, clearly telling him how poor his acting ability was

"Umm," he said eloquently "A week at least," Her glare did not let up as she silently demanded more from him.

"Maybe less then a week?" he managed, wilting under the wattage of that stare "Uh…six days?"

There was a long pause while Reinette drooped at the knowledge she'd pressed out of the Doctor and he realised that, effectively, he'd told her the future.

"You, umm, can't tell anyone that, you know. Especially not the king. You have got to try and not let it affect you in any manner whatsoever," Even as he delivered the warning, he knew how impossible she would find it to obey. Humans, they really were all the same.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

He did manage to remain at the palace until Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson passed away, trying to provide what comfort he could for the French aristocrat by his mere presence. Every single time he saw her, he was struck by how much a few years had changed her completely, and not just her appearance.

After her death the Doctor discovered that she had done even more for him – in her will she'd left a sizable amount of gold to 'her angel', under the condition that he attend her funeral – something that didn't even truly need to be asked. The money would effectively cure all of his financial difficulties for…well at the rate he used it, a lot more then 200 years. After receiving her gift and watching the entire funeral ceremony dry-eyed, the Doctor vanished as quickly as he could. He'd been way too public and visible around the royal courts and he needed to disappear long enough for his presence to dim in people's memories. He needed a vacation.

With his rushed disappearance, the Doctor missed the clause of the will concerning a certain portrait and its destruction. Reinette's maidservants, the only ones to know of the painting's whereabouts, argued amongst themselves whether or not that particular clause had been a mistake. For they knew that she had loved that portrait and sometimes had spent hours just staring at it. Surely she couldn't truly wish for it to be destroyed?

With the best of intentions, the servants did not destroy the picture – they merely removed it from its place in her private gallery and transported it to storage. From there it gradually slipped their minds until no-one remembered its existence. It was found years later and because of the date originally proposed to be displayed in a museum. But then they noticed the style of clothes in the painting and it was thought to be a hoax. An unusual, time-wasting hoax that no-one could see the reason behind.

And so it was moved to Torchwood's storage. Where, eventually it became the job of a certain Jack Harkness to search through and catalogue the contents of these extensive storerooms. And still the subject of the painting did not know of its existence.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

_I've realised I ought to start getting a move on – I had 249 years to write at the start and I've only managed about a grand total of 6 so far._

_I'm not giving up on this story though; I'm just a slow writer at times. Review and encourage me?_

_Tai_


	11. Out of your Time

_Disclaimer: If I owned Doctor Who, the Doctor would have a bit more of a fashion sense – blue suit with red converse shoes? And a pink tie? Ouch._

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**11- Out of your Time**

--- Year: 1771 ---

(Seven years on)

The passage of Time was a remarkable thing to watch, even if he'd never before had opportunity to study it at such close range. Time was a killer, this he knew better then any other, and from first hand experience. To watch its effect on humans was at one and the same time fascinating and deeply unsettling. The worry of not having enough time took up a great deal of their lives, fleeting as they were, and on occasions like this he could fully understand why.

The Doctor tended to ignore the years passing while he was in the TARDIS, he did feel every single one but tended to gloss over them, only recognising them if his companions forced him to. Once alone he forgot how devastating a mere few years could be, after all they had no visible effect on him. Arthur too, after what he'd done, aged slowly enough not to constantly remind the Doctor of vanished time.

But now, the time lost was shoved right in his face and was impossible to ignore. And why was this? Ten years had passed since he'd first discovered the Kiienyin globe, the decade after which he'd promised he'd visit. And he was being presented with just what a decade can do to a young girl, not even a teenager when he'd last parted from her.

He'd found the Collets without too much trouble – they hadn't even moved house from when he'd been there last. The building itself had changed only a little; a minor extension extending the rambling house some more.

Steeling himself against the possible reactions his arrival could cause, the Doctor knocked crisply on the front door. A few moments later it was swung open and the woman standing there gasped sharply as she retreated. The first second passed for him in blankness as he failed to recognise her. Her reaction though was noted by the other owner of the house – her husband.

"Marie?" the voice came from deeper into the dwelling, the speaker remaining out of sight for the moment "Marie, what is it? What's wrong?"

At the name, the resemblance clicked into place for the Doctor. Of course she wouldn't look quite the same as the terrified girl he'd cajoled into taking the sphere. Time would affect her; no human was immune to its passing. Marie Collet looked to have grown into a sensible, graceful 21-year old. And, what was more she was now happily married.

As if in reinforcement to this point, Marie's husband came forward so that he was standing next to her in the doorway. Treating the Doctor to a belligerent scowl, the man asked:

"And just who are you, Mister?" resting a hand reassuringly on Marie's shoulder.

Just as the Doctor was opening his mouth to reply to the aggressive question, Marie beat him to it.

"He…I…You haven't changed. Not one bit, you're exactly the way I remember you," in answer the Timelord could only offer a slight shrug and an echo of his usual grin. It baffled him sometimes how humans were always so concerned with appearances, all of the people he'd met more then once had commented on his looks – normally the first thing they said upon seeing him again.

"Err…yes. I'm just here to check on the sphere. That is… you _do _still have it, don't you?" the sudden edge to his voice was brought on from the thought of how hard it would be to find the Kiienyin globe again when it could have been transported to any remote corner of the world. This fear was quickly laid to rest when Marie nodded swiftly before stepping backwards to invite him inside.

He took a half-step to follow her before his passage was obstructed by the body of Marie's husband. He'd moved to fill the doorway after the French woman had backed away. From the look in the man's eyes, the Doctor wouldn't be getting past without a thorough explanation or a miracle.

When Marie glanced back to see the problem she chose to provide the miracle option; or from her point of view the only explanation she understood.

"Clément! Let him in! It's the angel!" her expression showed how scandalised she was that her husband had refused entry to a divine being. When the man looked back to the Doctor in humble apology the Timelord shrugged slightly; trying hard to keep his amusement from showing.

Once Clément had been informed about the angelic status of their visitor he couldn't even bring himself to look the Doctor in the eye. For the most part he stayed out of the way and bowed whenever he felt the 'divine' gaze come to rest on him.

Before long this began to seriously grate on the Doctor's nerves and he scrupulously avoided acknowledging the man. He was only there for a short visit, mostly because he'd made a promise to the young French girl who'd done something for him that he had been unable to do.

After unlocking a safe which must have cost quite a lot of time and effort to have installed, especially if it was solely for the orb, Marie withdrew the still-glowing sphere. Despite himself the Doctor winced at it. Sitting dormant as it had been for ten years, the globe had become quite powerful; brimming with psychic energy. And yet it still greedily sucked up more as it lay in her hands. If he left it alone for another 200 years or so, it would probably have enough power to run a ship by itself. It was a distinctly dangerous source of energy for him, but if he had to employ it then he would make full use of what fortune fell his way.

He couldn't stand being in the orb's proximity for very long and soon asked Marie to hide it away again. But before he could extract himself from the household she practically herded him to another room to meet her son. An angel's blessing was, after all, not exactly something that was normally easy to come by.

Marie proudly informed the six-year old boy that he was in the presence of divinity. His only response was to stare in slack-jawed amazement. It was only with the strongest of willpower efforts that the Doctor avoided banging his head against the nearest hard object.

One hasty, made-up-on-the-spot blessing later and a reminder to bring up her son with the knowledge of what the family held and the Doctor was practically running out of the door.

Once outside, Arthur immediately caught his aura of urgency and didn't wait for the signal to move off, his hooves digging into the ground as he leapt away from a standing start.

--- Year: 5058 ---

A violent shudder of her surroundings jerked Rose fully awake – she'd become so bored with a ritual description on an artefact that it was quite easily sending her mind off to sleep. But now… her head flew up in startled alarm as the entire ship bucked again. Worried, Rose levered herself up despite the juddering cabin and lurched her way out towards the bridge.

In the passageway just outside she ran into Mickey (literally) and discovered that he'd had the same notion – get up to the bridge and ask Nadeo just what the hell he thought he was doing with the vessel.

The first impression Rose received upon entering the control deck was that of chaos. Complete and utter anarchy. The captain, both pilots, Izzy and all three of the odd-job crew were already there, adding their own layers to the tones of distress and confusion that bounced continuously around the room. Even without asking, Rose could clearly tell that the Cheynu had not intentionally caused the brutal shocks and were at something of a loss to explain why it _had_ happened.

She only just had time to assimilate the normally unflappable Cheynu in a state of total panic before Nadeo quieted them – using an unbelievably high-pitched, shrill tone that made her shake her head in discomfort. It was probably their equivalent of yelling 'Shut up!' at the top of your voice, or at least that was the effect it had. Order was quickly established once again with Nadeo opening a line to the engine room and asking for a damage report. The reply came back in Mycki's precise humming tone – repairable but they'd be limping until they got to a space station to buy new parts from.

Nadeo literally growled in frustration before explaining to not only Rose and Mickey but also the six other curious Cheynu in the room.

"Crippled until we can dock somewhere, probably just how they wanted us…"

"Who would that be?" the question came from Izzy, the archaeology specialist sounding very worried about who or what might have caused such damage to their much-loved home.

Before Nadeo or any of the others could reply to Izzy's question, the comm. board crackled into life with its own answer.

"_This is the Time Agency cruiser _**Aeon**_. Illegal foreign technology has been detected onboard your vessel; you will power down your engines immediately and prepare to be boarded. The technology will be taken into custody and then your crew will be free to leave. Repeat: prepare to be boarded. Message ends_."

His large green eyes wider then normal with sheer surprise at the situation, Nadeo waved a hand at Kit, who hastily complied with the Agency's instructions. Barely audibly, the captain started humming to himself;

"Completely out-classed, there's no point in running especially now we're damaged. But what could they want? We've nothing classed as illegal. They've shown before that they couldn't care less about scavengers. Why have they picked us out? What's different this time?"

The exact same thoughts had been running furiously around Rose's head as well, but hearing the Cheynu voice the sentiments aloud altered them slightly. Something clicked inside her head, and she blinked suddenly in realisation.

To an agency that travelled in time, the most important task would be keeping history reasonably on track and making sure that inventions happened when they were supposed to. Sort of like what the Doctor had said the Timelords used to do.

So, to this agency, illegal foreign tech would mean something out-of-its-time. And the only thing that really didn't exist in this time-frame was… the TARDIS. Strictly speaking, she didn't think the space-time ship truthfully belonged in _any_ era.

But somehow the Time Agency had been able to detect the TARDIS and now the Cheynu would pay the price for harbouring 'illegal' travellers. Grimly she wondered what would happen to her and Mickey: would they be taken prisoner and forced to unlock the TARDIS, or would they just be ignored as irrelevant?

Rose's shoulders drooped as she remembered all the lengths to which the Doctor had gone to prevent his ship from falling into enemy hands. And his constant boasting that nothing could get inside unless the ship herself wanted them to. What the Doctor hadn't counted on was the enemy possessing a key.

Not for the first time in the five days, fourteen hours and twenty-one minutes of her ordeal Rose longed for the Doctor to return. She wished for him to somehow find a miraculous way to come back to his ship. Not the least because this sort of sticky situation was the type he was an expert in wiggling out of.

--- Year: 1774 ---

May the tenth. Not an explicitly well-remembered date for any specific reason. Oh, a handful of saints claimed it as their 'feast day' and there were any number of people who called it their birthday. And over the years quite a number of events had happened on it. So, maybe it _was_ a special date. But not specifically more then any other.

Anyway, it was on this particular May 10th that the king of France, Louis XVI, was going to be crowned. Of course this also meant that the previous king had to be dead - the person who had taken Reinette to be his mistress and had outlived all of his immediate family was the one having the elaborate funeral service.

Today was the day that Louis XVI, son of Louis, grandson of Louis XV would be crowned. And this crowning was more special then any other king's. Why? Because there was an angel watching it.

Not that anyone knew he was there; it was too soon in their memory for him to make an appearance in front of higher society. And so he lurked. He was very good at it too, not that he was bragging to himself. Arthur snorted and shook his head vigorously, making his mane whip around his neck. Okay so maybe he was boasting, just a little.

But still, he'd wanted to just say a private goodbye and watch the man be laid to rest. And perhaps, he'd wanted to see how ridiculously extravagant the next king's crowning would be.

And maybe, the Doctor was just a little puzzled over why they were all called 'Louis'. There were many other perfectly serviceable French names that would suit perfectly well, and yet for generations the only seemingly acceptable name for the male royals had been 'Louis'. It all begged the question of **_why?_** If they couldn't think of any others, he'd be quite happy to offer suggestions.

Except… that he wasn't really supposed to be here and he probably ought to be disappearing again. Carefully he nudged Arthur away from the flocks of people streaming into Versailles, it was time and past that he ought to go. Go and explore somewhere he hadn't been before – if he had all these years he might as well do something with them.

"Tell me though," he started to Arthur, the animal being the only one around who would listen and even comment on his rambles. "Why _Louis? _I mean, what's wrong with…oh I don't know… Marie's husband, now what was his name? Oh yes, that's right: Clément! Nothing wrong with Clément. Nothing at all, perfectly good name, and yet there isn't a 'King Clément' in the whole of France's history. None whatsoever! They're all called Louis, and I do mean all of them. It got a little bit ridiculous by 'Louis the three-hundred-and-twenty-second'. ALL of them called Louis … _Why?_"

The white horse tossed his whole head, almost saying _'I really don't know, and d'you know what? I really don't care either, why you seem to is beyond me'_.

The Doctor, never one to let something drop so easily, ignored the unspoken comment and continued:

"If you could just explain to me… why exactly can I hear screaming?"

At his words, or maybe just the change in his vocal tone, Arthur's head flew up; his ears pricked to catch the noise. Not that the Doctor would be mistaken, he was _very_ good when it came to recognising where he was needed.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

Half an hour later and the Doctor was teetering on the edge of loosing his 'very calm'-ness. Not only had the cause of the screams been something completely _un_-supernatural, but he had been thoroughly upstaged and in the end made useless in the rescue attempt. Worse then that, he'd proved inferior to a _horse_. Maybe that same horse _had_ been responsible for saving his own life on a number of occasions and had proven invaluable on many more; but this was going a bit too far.

It wasn't that he hadn't been in the process of his own (grander, more elaborate, requiring a lot more effort and ingenuity) rescue scheme, it was merely that the horse had been quicker.

And now? He was standing in an unremarkable forest clearing just away from the scene of the action, waving his sonic screwdriver (part of his plan, he just hadn't gotten around to putting it away again) in a castigating manner at the animal in front of him. The very sorry-looking, bedraggled, and above all else _soaking wet _horse standing in front of him.

He wasn't quite certain what he was scolding Arthur _for_, which made it all that much harder. In the end the Timelord settled on reprimanding him for 'showing off'.

Arthur whickered in protest and stamped a hoof; somehow managing to indicate the people he'd rescued.

"Well yes," the Doctor was forced to acknowledge that the white horse had succeeded what he'd set out to do "But I would also have done that, with considerably _less_ risk of anyone drowning I might add. Just look at yourself!"

This time Arthur's protest was a loud neigh, accompanied by several head-tosses.

"Yes, I know it was faster. But that's not the _point_; my method would still have worked!"

The horse rolled his eyes before miming shivering and keeling over. Scrambling back to his feet, Arthur locked gazes with the Doctor, a challenge in his eyes.

"Ok, so maybe because your way was faster there was _less_ chance of someone catching pneumonia and dying. Thank you, I'm sure it _really_ made a difference," he took a deep breath to carry on with his sarcastic tirade before letting it all out in a rush. What was the point? Everybody had survived and he was just worrying about 'what if's.

"S'okay," he soothed "I'm not really angry, just a bit worked up," Seeing the fight go out of his friend Arthur also relaxed, lowering his head to press it up against the Doctor's chest in a silent demand to have his ears scratched. Laughingly the Timelord complied, his relief at both of them still being there overcoming his annoyance at the horse's failure to follow orders.

The pair stood like that for a good couple of minutes before the Doctor realised two things. Firstly, the head that was resting against him was still absolutely drenched and was therefore wetting his suit. This became very obvious now that the dampness had seeped through to his skin. Secondly, when the horse had mimed shivering it hadn't entirely been an act. The Doctor could feel subtle tremors passing through the horse's frame; it was after all January and the water had been frigid. Another reason why Arthur's plan of action had been fraught with even more danger.

A short period of time later and the Doctor had, courtesy of his sonic screwdriver, a roaring fire going and was trying to coax Arthur to lie down next to it. Having spent so long travelling the Doctor's way, only stopping to let Arthur sleep and never having any fires to betray their presence, the horse was slightly wary about what the blaze meant.

Eventually though, by dint of stretching out on top of him, the Timelord convinced Arthur to lie down and stay put. Staring moodily up at the stars he tried to explain himself.

"You do realise I'm only angry because I care, right?" Arthur huffed an affirmative, curving his neck around so that he could nudge the Doctor reassuringly in the ribs. "That's all I ever seem to do – I care too much, always have," his soft voice trailed off as his mind raced through the years to when he wanted to be. Unfortunately he'd have to wait them out, no short cuts for him this time around.

--- Year: 2007 ---

"Sir?" Terence's voice seemed to come from a long way off, as if he was standing at the other end of a football stadium. "Sir? You may want to take a look at this,"

Warily Terence approached his superior, the small pile of dusty manuscripts in his hands proclaiming where he'd been for the past two hours. Carefully setting the stack down on an unoccupied table, he examined the American.

However much he might have needed to look at what had been dug up from storage, Jack Harkness was currently trapped in a little world of his own. Blue eyes stared vacantly at nothing in particular while one hand gently stroked down the side of the painting's frame – the canvas still being set up on the table in front of him. The Prime Minister had left not long after Terence had, having seen what she'd come for and Jack hadn't moved since.

Terence understood his superior well enough to know that he was locked deep within his memories and that he really shouldn't be left alone in this state; sooner or later he'd start digging up the more emotional thoughts and then he'd be in the sort of mood to want to break anything within reach.

But something seemed different about the American this time – as Terence reached over to jog his shoulder slightly Jack abruptly blinked, vanishing the haunted look, and came back to himself with a disbelieving murmur of

"**_Pyjamas?_**"

Terence knew better then to ask.

There was a pause while he waited for Jack to sort himself out. This consisted of glancing at the painting next to him, shaking his head stubbornly, twisting back to give it a longer look and shaking his head more violently. Eventually he tore his eyes away from the out-of-the-correct-time-frame suited man and turned to Terence with a sigh.

"Alright then hit me - what've you got?"

"Sir, you asked me to look for the 'Immortal Angel', assuming that it was a person around in 1760 and also assuming that-," the Torchwood employee began in a precise tones, taking the open invitation to talk.

"Yes, I know what I asked; now tell me what you found under those parameters." Jack Harkness cut through the flow of chatter, knowing from experience that if you let him run on Terence could quite happily occupy all of your time telling you how he found the required data rather then explaining his actual findings.

"Oh…err, right. Yes sir, well these documents make references to someone who seemed to be known as 'Madame de Pompadour's 'angel''. From what I gathered with a quick skim-read they were all quite sceptical of this person truly being an angel. Or at least at first, curiously enough the later ones seem to take it as fact that this being is truly divinity of some sort."

"Hmm," Jack reached over and snagged the top sheet "If he was connected to Madame de Pompadour, would it be possible to find her journal or diary or something? Everyone kept one in those days. In the mean time, I'll make a start on these,"

His eyes flicked down to the body of the text, the crabbed handwriting proving more of a challenge to him then the archaic French it was written in. Terence caught the unspoken dismissal only due to having known Jack ever since he'd started work at Torchwood. Noiselessly he tiptoed out of the room to find the nearest computer so he could inquire about diaries from the 1700's.

The ex-Time Agent's office was silent with only the rustle of crackling paper as Jack quickly read through the account. Quite suddenly he paused in his reading, his mind flicking backwards into his memories once more.

"_Pyjam**as**?_" he tried again, the word somehow seeming wrong in his mouth, as if it didn't quite fit. The idea was certainly having trouble matching up inside his brain.

Pushing the concept aside again to be dealt with later, Jack buried himself in his reading. He _would_ get to the bottom of this mystery, no matter how much he had to fight for it.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_Meh. Whenever I promise to have a chapter up by a certain time…don't listen to me. At all. I was stuck by a nasty dose of 'my life', and it was quite a shock to realise I had one._

_Going back to school (NO!) on Monday, so updates…no idea how they'll be affected. On the one hand I'll have schoolwork and stuff. On the other I'll have internet time at school. Soo… no promises, 'k?_

_Review?_

_Tai_


	12. Witchcraft

_Disclaimer: Grr…if I owned Doctor Who, I'd probably have enough money to ensure that my school doesn't block ff .net from its server. Which it has done. Smeg, I'd have enough money to not even bother with the whole 'school' malarkey at all._

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

**12 – Witchcraft**

--- Year: 1776 ---

As the years had passed his wanderlust had only increased, sending him off roaming with barely a pause in any single location. It was almost as if he was searching for something just out of his reach and somehow he became that little bit closer by the constant journeying.

His exploration had led him to the town of Linz in Austria, situated on the same river as the capital, Vienna. For the past few days something had been heading him to this particular town, hooking his natural curiosity to draw him closer. Except that there was nothing super-natural about this trail that led him to Linz, no inner feeling that he was needed. No, what brought the Doctor this time was the simple trail of rumour.

Gossip abounded in any place that people tended to gather, more so when they were supposed to be doing something else. By loitering inconspicuously in various towns and villages he had managed to amass a great deal of the sort of stories that were often passed around. It took a lot more work to filter that heap of information for the real gems of truth from the semi-lies and exaggeration that surrounded them. However all rumours had their basis in fact, despite how distorted they became from the constant re-telling.

Rumour had it that the town of Linz was suffering a veritable plague of witches, with more people accused of that crime in the past five months then throughout the whole of the major Salem witch trials of 1692. Even if not all of the accusations were based in fact it was more then slightly worrying that there had been an unprecedented number of burnings. So many so that the town had in fact invested in a permanent site for a pyre and an almost constant supply of firewood for it.

The quantity of the rumours, form numerous different sources had led the Doctor to believe that something was truly not as it was supposed to be. According to history, the last person to actually be on capital trial for witchcraft in Austria was back in 1750. So that meant interference, someone was changing what had happened and that meant that he really ought to have a nose around himself. Plus he was bored and welcomed anything that could remotely constitute a bit of adventure.

And so he'd pushed both himself and Arthur to arrive in Linz as soon as they could. Now as he sat on the horse's back, watching night draw in over the town, he took a moment to reflect that maybe it would create a better impression if he waited until daylight before entering. With a shake of his head he quickly discarded that notion; he would probably find more out if he remained inconspicuous and it was easier to do that in the dark.

Shifting his weight, the Doctor prodded Arthur to start him walking down towards the collection of primitive, wooden houses. The white horse had only taken a few steps before he was brought up short by the Doctor reining in suddenly. Some sense was prickling at him; there was something wrong that he really ought to be noticing. Scanning the area in the gathering gloom, the Timelord failed to see anything that could possibly be setting his back up. But the feeling persisted, an un-scratchable itch that refused to just disappear.

Suddenly something flashed over his head, close enough to make him flatten himself reflexively against Arthur's back. Straightening, he twisted sharply to catch sight of the object over his shoulder. And blinked in disbelief. He _knew_ all about the rumours, he had been following their trail, but to actually confirm it with his own eyes was something else entirely.

Steering Arthur's head around with one hand while pointing after the item in question with the other, the Doctor clapped the heels of his converse to the horse's flanks.

"Follow that broomstick!" he commanded, before hastily looking around to see if anyone had overheard him. Arthur snickered at both his insecurity and the sheer ridiculousness of the exclamation before taking off like a rocket after the disappearing object.

Despite the fact that it was still light enough to see reasonably clearly, the rolling grassland was uneven and broken with many potholes and undetectable rises to catch an unwary runner out. Racing over it in the dark was absolute folly, but the Doctor didn't even pause to consider it; his mind fully fixed on pursuing the flying person.

Arthur clearly perceived the danger inherent in the terrain but nevertheless stretched his legs out into a full gallop. He'd barely made fifty metres when he stumbled, his left front hoof catching on an invisible little rise in the ground and throwing his stride out. Arthur managed to recover before he went over; using his momentum to get all of his feet back underneath himself, but he lurched viciously from the near-mishap.

With significantly faster then human reflexes, the Doctor adjusted his weight to help the horse remain upright and then pulled back on the reins. Another incident like that and they'd both be on the ground with broken necks.

Trembling slightly in a shock reaction, Arthur stared after the disappearing speck that had been a broom. If his passenger had asked it, the horse would still be tearing over the uneven terrain, no matter the threat. Even knowing the danger, Arthur was still willing to risk everything for the Timelord's wishes.

The Doctor sighed in resignation before turning both of them back towards the town; there was really no chance of catching up under these conditions, not with the poor amount of light available. Trying would be beyond stupid, and he prided himself on being a genius. He'd just have to deal with the fact that this time his quarry had escaped him.

Despite the fact that it was approaching midnight, the majority of the townsfolk appeared to be awake and busy. Normally, he'd expect almost everyone to be asleep and not creating a ruckus. As the pair stole softly into the settlement, they came to the apparent hub of activity. In the centre of the main town square was a raging bonfire with, as near as he could tell all of the men, and quite a few of the women, living in the village clustered around it.

They seemed to be listening to one man in particular, who was standing on a small wooden platform near the blaze. He was gesturing wildly as he spoke, his costly robe flying out behind him with some of his more dramatic spins.

Slipping softly to the ground, the Doctor edged closer to the crowd without becoming involved, trying to hear what the topic matter was. Arthur trailed after him, affecting not to notice the firm 'stay there' hand signal. All of his companions turned out to be the same, unable to resist the lure of trouble.

Hugging the corner of a large building in an alleyway just off the square, the pair watched in wide-eyed disbelief what was rapidly becoming a frenzied mob. A mob fired by stories of witchcraft and the evils perpetrated by 'the devil's' spells. Well, this was one reason why there had been so many 'witches' reported – the general public were currently hyped enough to accuse ­_anyone_ on little to no evidence at all. A funny look could be taken the wrong way and the next minute every little misfortune would be blamed on that person with cries of 'witchcraft!' not far behind.

Here was half of his answer as to why there were so many charges of 'witch!' – fervour whipped up to insanity levels all in the name of 'doing the Lord's work'. Now he just needed to find out what exactly had first started the large-scale hunt; this level of suspicion had to have a pretty major cause. That wasn't to say that they weren't justified – he had after all seen definite evidence of the traditional witchcraft. He seriously doubted that their cause was all that it seemed, there was no way in his mind that this came from Earth originally.

However, he probably wouldn't be able to discover all the facts behind _that_ by staying here and listening to a late-night rally.

Horse and humanoid shared a look, two pairs of impossibly dark eyes reaching a decision without saying a word. The duo melted backwards into the night, a dark phantom shadowed by a four-legged pale wraith.

* * *

--- Year: 5058 ---

After the channel to the Time Agency's cruiser had been closed with a decisive crackle, nobody had quite known what to do or say. The silence over the bridge was uncomfortable and prickly, each person there immersed in their own gloomy thoughts.

Exactly like before it was Nadeo, the captain, who broke the mood and chivvied them to act rather then _re_act. His quick mind instantly grasped that there was absolutely nothing either he or his crew could do to prevent the Time Agents boarding their ship, and so he decided to work with that event.

"Cayduló?" he asked his second-in-command, the main pilot "Initiate standard docking roll; then stay here while I go talk to the neighbours. I want you to be ready in case something unexpected comes up, never know with this agency…" suddenly he spun to the two humans in the room

"Rose? Mick'man? Would you prefer your presence onboard to remain unnoticed?"

Rose blinked before her mind caught up with her ears; the Cheynu obviously thought that maybe she and Mickey were in trouble somehow with this organisation and, more then that, he was offering to hide them. Answering him, she shook her head:

"Nah, we'll come say hello too, we've got no reason to be afraid of them." Inwardly, her mind raced as to what to do about the TARDIS – the Time Agents would want to seize the fake telephone box as soon as they realised what it was and she had no idea how to stop them. She let no trace of her thoughts show on her features as she grabbed Mickey and headed off for the cargo bay – where the main ship-to-ship docking port was located.

On the way she filled Mickey in on her suspicions and asked his thoughts. She needed someone to bounce her suggestions off as she tried to take over the Doctor's role in his absence.

"If they do decide it's the TARDIS they want and they take it, we have to go with them somehow. We can't just lose that ship!"

"Rose, slow down. You can't be certain that that's what they're after, and besides how will they treat us for _owning_ 'illegal technology'? Even if we can't actually use it,"

"_Think_ Mickey!" Rose almost added '-the-idiot', agreeing wholly with the Doctor's name for her ex. "Nadeo said that the Time Agency have never before pulled an alien ship up like this, so there must be something different about this time. What could that be? Simple: there's a time-ship sitting in the cargo bay. I think the Time Agency would be quite annoyed about anyone else having the technology to time-travel, especially if they've taken over the role of policing the timeline."

By this time they'd made it down to the cargo bay and were staring in trepidation at the currently-closed airlock. A moment later they were joined by Nadeo with Kit and Izzy providing an escort. Nervously, the five waited for the arrival of the Time Agents and what their verdict would be.

An anxious ten minutes later and the lock irised open revealing a squad of eight fully-suited figures brandishing a variety of dangerous-looking guns. Or at least Rose assumed they were guns, looking as they did nothing like any type of firearm available on Earth in her time.

The leader stepped forward, removing his helmet as he did so in order to address Nadeo. Obviously having encountered Cheynu before, he also named his species in the introduction

"Lieutenant William Ergrer-Human, second-in-command of the cruiser _Aeon_. Who is accountable onboard this vessel?"

Unsurprisingly, Nadeo stepped forwards, his liquid emerald eyes looking enormous with his apprehension. His extra arms twitched as if unable to keep still, but his humming voice was as unflappable as usual.

"Captain Nadeo-Cheynu, at your service Lieutenant," Rose received the translation directly through her psychic link with the TARDIS, but obviously the ship had decided not to extend the same courtesy to the Time Agents. Each member of the squad appeared to have their own in-suit translator and there was an uneasy pause while the mini-computers translated the short statement.

Looking sideways at Mickey, she shared a look of amusement – neither of them thought much of the translation software. Of course, they _had_ grown used to the best so anything would seem inferior by comparison.

The formalities over with and appearing unwilling to conduct a conversation with the language barrier, Lieutenant Ergrer waved his team forwards to begin searching the ship. Efficiently the squad split into three pairs and left in different directions, with the Lieutenant and his aide remaining behind in the cargo bay. Each team of two had a hand-held scanner, most likely used to search for readings from their quarry. Rose held back a snicker as all of the Time Agents walked straight past the object they were looking for – the blue box of the TARDIS.

Lieutenant Ergrer watched his men leave before turning back to the 'welcome party'. It seemed there were a few things he wasn't quite satisfied by and needed to get some more answers. Surprisingly, his attention focussed first on Rose and Mickey; the two humans looking a little out of place next to the oversized larger Cheynu.

"And just what are a pair like you doing with a bunch of Cheynu? Hitching a lift?" his tone was bordering on the sarcastic, his smirk suggesting that such a thing was unthinkably ridiculous and it would be okay to even laugh at the notion. Rose suppressed a grin of her own as she replied:

"Yes in fact. That exactly. We found ourselves stranded without any way of leaving and they were kind enough to offer transportation."

Behind her, she heard a choked-off splutter from Mickey at the Agent's dumbfounded expression. He really hadn't been expecting his casual statement to be confirmed as fact.

"So," the man tried again "You're paying for transportation to…?" his tone clearly indicated that he wanted the blanks filled in.

"Not sure," Rose replied brightly, doing her best impression of the Doctor in one of his hyper but clueless moods "Wherever the Cheynu think would be a good place," she chose not to bring up the fact that payment for the lift had not even been discussed between them.

"And tell me, how exactly did you come to need transportation, Miss…?" the agent was gritting his teeth with the effort of remaining civil. Rose was giving him answers but only to exactly reply to his questions and she was being cryptic at that.

"Rose Tyler," she said, reasoning that there was really no point in having a false name, not when she didn't have any records to trace under her own. "Well, we were travelling with a friend and then he had to leave us unexpectedly, so we were sort of stuck. Luckily the Cheynu came along and offered their ship,"

Clearly unsatisfied, the Lieutenant scowled at her before moving on to Mickey.

"And you're also in the same situation, hitching a lift with your…'_friend_'?" it was apparent from his intonation that he'd picked a completely different word in the privacy of his own head and had had to struggle not to come out with it.

Mickey merely nodded, the inflection not lost on him and not bothering to grace the veiled accusation with a verbal response. Not willing to stand and listen to more of the same, he caught Rose's eye and wandered over to the other side of the cargo bay, distancing themselves from the interrogation while conveniently getting closer to the TARDIS without being obvious about it.

The ship-wide search continued with teams dropping in occasionally to report on their findings, or lack of. Apparently the level of emission was consistently low throughout all of the decks, with the source so far remaining elusive. About half an hour after they'd started, the Lieutenant's personal comm. beeped to life.

"Sir, this is Delta-Six. We found something; think you ought to take a look at this," the curt message cut off and Ergrer sprang into life. Swiftly collecting his aide, he made off down one of the interconnecting passages. Bemused that the call had come from somewhere other then right outside the TARDIS, Rose tagged along. Also curious as to what the Time Agents had deemed important Nadeo, Kit, Izzy and Mickey followed after her.

The urgent call had come from Izzy's lab, the place where he and Rose had spent so long categorising and translating a large quantity of the artefacts in stock. The pair of agents that made up this particular searching squad were standing in the centre of a mess, the artefacts scattered haphazardly around them.

A soft annoyed hiss came from Izzy when he saw the disorder of his laboratory, quiet enough not to reach the ears of any of the Time Agents. He may have been irritated, but none of the Cheynu were stupid by a long shot.

'Delta-Six' was holding the Spock-scanner (as Rose termed it in her mind) at the object Rose had been working on before the ship had been hit. It was covered in a thoroughly boring rendition of a traditional Bhengoauh ritual designed to make their planet's suns appear on an overcast day. However, from the agent's expression they thought it to be something far more sinister.

In fact, purely from the way they were treating it, an observer would be forgiven for believing the item was an arcane talisman of unimaginable power and destructive capability. The Time Agent held it like it was created by the devil and made of pure witchcraft.

* * *

--- Year: 2007 ---

_I knew then that my time had come, and I was no longer for this Earth._

_Such sorrow. Such pure eternal sorrow – the weight of it was more then I could take. It was more then any being should be made to carry and yet one pair of eyes held it all. I only caught his gaze for less then a second and still I trembled with its power. As soon as he broke the contact – for I could not move, a paralysed deer caught by but not understanding the light that sweeps around it – I stumbled backwards and sank to the ground with tears coursing down my face. _

_Once I could think for myself again and reflect on the event the other thing that struck me was age; somehow those eyes held knowledge of ages past and gone – had seen more things then possible in a mortal's span. The intelligence in them was not cowed by the time that he had seen but accepted, lived on and remembered._

_If I had had my doubts before they were swept away in that instant, and I saw clearly the truth that had evaded me before. How wrong had we been to challenge this being? Inconceivably so. And only now do I understand that. What form will his retribution take?_

_Whatever it is, we deserve it. We deserve no less then the fires of hell for what we tried to do. It doesn't matter that we failed before we'd started, the intent was there and thus do we damn ourselves. Only the intervention of his divine companion, the horse-spirit, stopped us from the sin we were about to commit. Our crime?_

_We tried to drag an angel down into the dirt and break him._

_--- 1760_

Jack growled to himself before thumping his feet off the desk and back onto the floor. The account was extremely sketchy on the details, and that wasn't down to his translation. It seemed to concentrate a lot more on the feelings and emotions then the actual events or description.

Ok, he knew from correlating the articles about the same event that a large group of men had gathered together, united in their disbelief of this angel. They'd laid a trap and then somehow the 'angel' had escaped. None of the conspirators had been physically harmed but somehow they'd all been made to see sense, with nothing more then a look.

Slightly fantastical, even if he did say so himself. He needed more information about this angel, and hopefully from a source that was better about recounting the actual events and not just their impression of them.

He'd made his way through the small pile of manuscripts that Terence had dumped on his desk and was beginning to wonder where his subordinate had gotten to. He would have thought that Terence would either have returned with the documents he'd asked for, or returned with an apology. Not returning at all was a possible cause for concern.

Levering himself up out of the chair, Jack stretched upwards until his spine cracked. He'd _really_ spent far too long reading those manuscripts. Once he found Terence he'd probably call it a day and go back to his rented flat – he knew he needed to give his mind a rest from trying to discover a pattern in the confusing half-complete data.

Rolling his shoulders to ease their stiffness, the American set off in search for his colleague, prepared to deal with whatever had ensnared his attention. _One rescue mission, coming right up_ he sighed to himself. _Yeah, if only_.

* * *

--- Year: 1776 ---

Morning arrived, and with it came the Doctor and Arthur again. They'd create less suspicion by being _seen_ to enter the town during daylight hours. Especially since the Doctor wanted to have a poke around – he was positive that he'd be able to find something within the walls that would point him in the right direction to solve the mystery of the overabundance of 'witches'.

Encountering strange newcomers in the middle of the night was not conductive to trusting them and spilling the secrets of possible causes for the profusion of witchcraft. Now however, they could pretend to just be travellers passing through, stopping for a quick look around while they were there.

In truth, the Doctor was searching for _any_ sign of extra-terrestrial interference or merely anything that wasn't supposed to be on at Earth at this time. He _had_ nearly been decapitated by a flying **broomstick**.

His attention was abruptly caught by a group of people clustering outside what appeared to be the local blacksmith's shop. The distinctive smell of forges sort of gave the game away. What had drawn him for a second look was the subtle aura of wrong-ness about the scene. The twinge it gave him was so small that he had to really look at the gathering before he realised what was bothering him.

The townsfolk, while they were obviously conducting important business of one sort or another, were not acting like…well, _people_. They weren't talking to each other, heck they weren't even making eye contact. Each of them seemed devoted to their personal task, lugging a variety of metal items everywhere from completely finished to not even started out of the shop and onto a large cart positioned in the middle of the street.

He'd have thought that the blacksmith himself would be interested in him as a traveller, on the grounds of being a potential customer if nothing else. But not one of them even seemed to acknowledge his presence. Their gazes were vacant and landed on anything moving but without truly seeming to _see_ anything.

The Doctor wondered what they wanted with all of that metal. Dismounting, he reached out and snagged the arm of a passing woman. Her eyes were empty and glazed, unable to accurately focus on anything.

Spinning on his heel, the Timelord looked up into Arthur's intelligent stare.

"Don't suppose you could do me a favour?" he grinned charmingly, despite how little effect he knew it to have on the horse. In response Arthur snorted and rolled his eyes – doing a very good impression of _'if I must'_.

"Good!" the Doctor beamed "I want you to follow this lot when they take off with all that metal. Track them until they come to their base or something, and then find me again; I want to know where they're taking it and I'm going to be occupied. Got that?"

The white horse dipped his neck, before circling back around to monitor the efforts of the group. In spite of all of apparent indifference, the animal could become exceedingly focussed and dedicated once on a job. The attitude was designed purely to get on the nerves of a certain Timelord. Having lived with each other through various scrapes in the course of eighteen years their understanding transcended spoken words. The snarky manner was something that almost forced the Doctor out of his gloomy musings, preventing him from dwelling in his memories. In short it was put on purely for his humanoid companion.

The woman he'd detained had been pulling dimly against his hold on her wrist; not actively trying to escape, but mindlessly attempting to resume her interrupted task. There was no intellect behind her actions and none to be found in her blank gaze, but he had to try to see if it was just buried deeper within.

Ignoring the feeble tugs, the Doctor dragged her off the main street. He couldn't afford the time it would take to find a secure location, preferably out of town, but he didn't want to just be in full view of anyone passing by. They wouldn't understand and probably wouldn't take kindly to what they perceived him to be doing.

He glanced around to check the side street wasn't already occupied before turning back to the task at hand. Releasing his hold of her wrist the Doctor made his move before she could take advantage of that fact and drift back to whatever she'd been doing. He placed his hands on her temples – the light touch somehow preventing her from drawing away.

There really was no time to look for another method of gathering information and he murmured a soft apology before repositioning his fingers slightly. Letting his eyes drift shut he extended his awareness through the contact of his fingertips, pushing his way into the woman's mind. As much as he disliked doing this without the other person's consent, this was the only way that he could be certain that… hold on a second… that wasn't right. That was very much not right and _really_ not supposed to be there.

Normally, what he'd expect to find inside a human's brain… well, it was hard to predict – they were all completely different. But he had grown to have some fundamental expectations and this was just _wrong_. He could access the woman's very surface thoughts, not that there was anything there; they seemed to be blocked by something. Okay, so he could access the area where the woman's surface thoughts _should _be. That there wasn't any was less worrying then the reason that he couldn't go deeper. He was running into a metaphorical brick wall.

Humans, no matter where or when they were from, did _not_ have the psychic ability to maintain a barrier like that. Which meant that he'd been correct in his assumption of extra-terrestrials. Oh joy.

Blocking off his outside awareness, the Doctor centred his focus on the smooth mental 'wall' inside her head. Unconsciously gritting his teeth, he tried to sink his consciousness _through_ it. Unsurprisingly the barrier resisted; flexing with the force of his push but holding its integrity without a single crack in its flawless surface.

That might have stumped someone less experienced with all the things the universe could throw at a person. Not so the Doctor, he'd been around and then some in his travels. Gathering himself for a protracted assault, he narrowed his perception to a single bright pinprick and then flung himself at the partition, seeking to flow through the gaps in its weave, if he could find any. There was something or someone inhabiting the mind of this human, and he wouldn't give up until he'd reached the bottom of the conundrum.

He was so focussed on the struggle going on inside the woman's head that he was completely oblivious to his surroundings. For this reason he didn't notice the curious onlookers that gathered around where he stood, fingertips clamped to the sides of the woman's head, eyes closed and scowling in concentration. The Doctor wasn't aware of the crowd he was drawing – the paranoid stares and whispered allegations.

In fact the first thing he knew of his company was when pain exploded against the back of his skull. The abrupt shock jolted his mind back to where it was supposed to be, awareness slamming around him with a sudden thump.

Fireworks flaring any time he moved his head, the Doctor staggered back a step, his hands falling away from the woman's head. He only had time to register the panic-struck, determined faces around him before something large, heavy and blunt crashed against his head for a second time.

The violent strike was, on top of the mental exertion, enough to cause him to lose consciousness. Dimly he was aware of his legs buckling and someone catching him the instant before his skull cracked on the ground. Then he escaped to the blackness from the blow, his mind slipping deeper, away from the pain.

* * *

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_Updates are gonna be… sporadic at best. Sorry. But absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? Right? …You're all going to hate me aren't you? _

_Please review anyway?_

_Tai_


	13. Unlucky?

_Note: The Torchwood in this is NOT like the series. Sorry, but in this Jack's joined the London branch and Doomsday has yet to happen. Therefore the whole Torchwood-getting-destroyed-by-rampaging-Cybermen/Daleks has not occurred._

_Disclaimer: Haven't you got the picture yet? Despite pleas/ bribes /threats/ wishes/ commands/ prayers to a higher being I still don't own Doctor Who. Damn it all!_

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**13 – Unlucky?**

--- Year: 1776 ---

His return to consciousness was announced by a barely-noticeable flicker of an eyelid. Carefully remaining unmoving, the Doctor tried to scan his surroundings surreptitiously. The first thing that came to his attention was a pounding headache, not surprising considering how hard he'd been hit. Concentrating momentarily he forced the throbbing pain down, it was a lot better then any human could have done and would tide him over until he had a chance to deal with it more thoroughly. Now, what he ought to be concentrating on was finding out how much time he'd lost while out of it.

Blacking out was never something he enjoyed but the amount of time he'd spent unconscious was becoming a little ridiculous. He'd swear that ever since arriving in 1758 and losing contact with the TARDIS, he'd spent more time in the blackness of oblivion then he had asleep.

Cracking open an eyelid, he frowned at the line of sunlight streaming through the barred window. What? His eyes tracked back and glowered at the light source. Bars? Oh dear, not again. Why was it that he ended up in various prison cells across the universe, despite the fact that he was always innocent? Well, almost always.

From the angle of the sunlight, it was past midday. Which meant he'd been out of it for over three hours. No wonder he had the feeling of time having slipped away from him, unusable now the moment had passed.

Gently he eased his head over to check the cell door. His gaze lazily traced the floor-to-ceiling bars which made up his door before roaming over the cramped space that he could just about lie down in diagonally.

So why had he ended up in here this time? Casting his mind back he suddenly sat up as he recalled the mental barrier he'd run into. And, since he'd been interrupted, he hadn't yet found a way past or through it. However for his pains he'd been bludgeoned unconscious and shoved in a jail cell. He really needed to work on his people skills.

He did have something in his favour though; he hadn't been killed while unconscious and have had to have woken up to a thoroughly new body. Also getting out shouldn't be too difficult as he wasn't tied down or restrained in any manner other then being in a cell. If he was exceedingly lucky, which he had been on occasion, then the contemporaries wouldn't have bothered to search him and he'd still have the sonic screwdriver. If not though… he'd think of something.

At his abrupt move to sit up it appeared that he'd been watched. Two figures detached themselves from the outer office and came through to the cells area. Keeping a carefully neutral expression, the Doctor didn't let on that he recognised one of them. The heavy, expensive robes were a give away seeing as they stuck in his memory from the night before. This was the one who'd been leading the congregation and speaking out against witchcraft. The other… came across as the generic official of the times – someone bound to do their duty, so he couldn't look for help from that quarter. If he had to make a guess to the identities of the pair he'd say they were the town sheriff and someone important like…possibly the local mayor.

His thoughts were cut off when the 'sheriff' spoke, addressing him

"You have been accused of practising witchcraft with intent to harm. Your trial will be scheduled as soon as our roving witch-hunter arrives back in Linz. However, this is just a delay of your rightful justice – we have numerous eye-witnesses who are prepared to swear they saw you applying your foul arts. He is scheduled to arrive tomorrow, so make you peace with the Devil, you'll soon be sent to join him."

With that, the pair sauntered out, leaving the Doctor trapped in his cell where he was supposed to stay until they could deal with him. Although the likelihood of that … really wasn't all that high. Especially when his captors left him alone with the sonic screwdriver.

Hauling himself to his feet with a solid grip on the door bars, the Doctor took a moment to check that he was completely alone before producing his sonic tool. The door lock provided no resistance at all and in moments he was slipping stealthily down the corridor, following the two who had just come to gloat at him.

If they stopped in the outer office his means of getting out would be to get past without them noticing or alternatively find another as-yet unknown way. Narrowing his eyes at the pair, the Doctor tried to will them to leave the building. Unfortunately it seemed they weren't about to listen to his mental pushing as instead they settled comfortably on either side of a large wooden desk. Right, that made it more complicated. Now all he needed was a major distraction of one sort or another.

Almost on cue there was a massive crash from outside. Both men jumped up from their chairs and raced to the door. The Doctor watched them leave with a grin slowly spreading across his face. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew the person who'd caused that diversion – they were tall, white and had four legs. It was exactly Arthur's style; in fact he'd be very surprised if the horse _wasn't_ involved somewhere.

Slipping into the outer office, the Doctor ghosted over to the exit, while keeping a careful eye out for anyone vaguely official looking. The street immediately outside was deserted and the Doctor sauntered off in the opposite direction from the commotion, trying his hardest to look like it was nothing to do with him.

Darting into the next small alleyway he froze, his back pressed up against the wall as he listened carefully for any signs of pursuit. It all depended on how effective the distraction had been.

In the distance faint cries came to his ears. Concentrating he was able to make out a little of what they were saying, and it didn't bode well for him.

"No, I'm telling you that that's nothing, it's just a diversion! Have you never read any novels? Right now we ought to be checking on the latest prisoner. You know, the one actually caught practising his vile arts? 'And in the confusion the prisoner made good his escape', sound familiar? Because it will be in a minute!"

Stilling his breathing to listen better the Doctor tried to catch what was said in reply and how bad the news was for him. A few minutes later he had his answer in the form of loud shouts:

"He's escaped!"

"Search the entire village!"

"We must find the witch!" From their volume, it sounded as if the hunt was heading his way. Warily he edged backwards even further from the main street, a vague notion about finding someplace to hide surfacing in his mind. If he could just evade the initial rush to re-capture him…

He slowly kept backing up, his eyes fixed firmly on the alley mouth that he'd entered by. Which was why he never noticed the figure behind him. At least he didn't until they nudged him sharply in the small of the back.

The Doctor abruptly froze at the touch; before his hands, of their own accord, crept up level with his shoulders in the universally accepted gesture of surrender.

--- Year: 5058 ---

"Report!" Lieutenant Ergrer barked, desperate to receive more information on the situation.

"Sir!" 'Delta-Six' snapped to attention "According to the scanner's read-out this item is saturated in the same type of energy that we've been tracing. Although I don't believe this is the source, it has still been in contact with the energy,"

This 'explanation' puzzled Rose even more as it seemed that maybe they actually weren't after the TARDIS despite what she'd thought.

"Not the source? But it may still be onboard… right, store that and keep searching," Ergrer came to a decision before he turned around and swept back to the cargo bay, Rose and her entourage trailing after him.

A further hour later and the entire squad had gathered again in the cargo bay, without having discovered anything else that set their scanners off. Even if the Bhengoauh artefact wasn't the source, maybe it had some repository qualities, allowing it to store the energy after being in contact with it. This meant that it could have been in contact with the energy before the Cheynu had picked it up and had only been leaking it throughout the ship afterwards. The knock-on effect was that Rose had possibly been over-paranoid for absolutely no reason and that the TARDIS was safe from the Agency. For the first time since the entire vessel had jolted, Rose allowed herself to relax slightly.

Until there was a loud crash behind her. Whirling around she looked on in horror as half of the squadron clustered around the blue box, their weapons pointing aggressively at it.

"Sir, believe we have uncovered an artefact from the wrong period. Initial surveillance places this as belonging to the 1960s – arrival by unknown means."

"Any unusual readings?" the Lieutenant scowled, his frown directed at the disguised time-ship. Most likely he was baffled at how exactly his men had missed it when they'd first arrived onboard the frigate. He directed this displeasure at the soldiers, who quickly adjusted the dials on their 'Spock-scanners' to read the air surrounding the telephone box.

"Negative temporal aura: none… standard radiation: none… overall energy output levels: slightly higher then background: reading 0.05 above spacecraft norm. Nothing out of the ordinary except for the energy."

"Try and get a fix on the energy readings," Ergrer commanded, seeming energised by this anomaly.

"Preliminary scans indicate the energy is the same origin as that which we traced here. First conclusion indicates that this box could be the source."

The Lieutenant nodded "Right, pack it onboard." Turning, his scowl fixed itself onto Nadeo "Now, you will tell me everything you know about this: where it came from and why you decided to take it onto your ship. I'm waiting."

The Cheynu captain opened his mouth to reply but before he even managed a single note, Rose jumped head-first into the conversation.

"He doesn't know anything about it."

"And why would that be?" Ergrer's voice was laden with unspoken violent promise if he didn't like the answers – it appeared that he was in his element.

"It's mine," Rose blurted the incriminating statement before her brain had a chance to catch up with her vocal chords and stop anything foolish. Behind her Mickey winced visibly – that was not the direction he would have liked the discussion to take.

"Oh really?" a predatory smile made its way across Ergrer's features "In that case would you and your…compatriot… care to accompany us?" Merely from his tone of voice it was obvious that this wasn't the sort of offer that it was possible to refuse.

Rose swallowed visibly, losing her appearance of absolute calm. Clearly, she'd spoken before she was quite sure where the conversation was heading. Trying to be the Doctor wasn't easy when she lacked the quintessential element that _made_ him able to face up to various megalomaniacs of all species without flinching. In short her bravado had run out and she'd started thinking about the consequences of claiming ownership of the TARDIS.

Ergrer stared at her for a long moment, almost as if he was trying to read her mind. He was evidently wary of Rose's reasons for speaking up so impulsively and was trying to read something more into it. Taking a step back, he gestured for the squadron to start organising a team to remove the large blue box in the cargo bay to their cruiser.

Helplessly glancing back at Nadeo with a look of 'sorry' in her eyes Rose began to trail after the lieutenant as he stomped back onto the Time Agency ship.

--- Year: 2007 ---

A rescue mission? Jack had been mocking himself when he'd thought that but even so; deep inside he had been hopeful. Maybe this time, just maybe he'd be lucky and something would happen. The reality was profoundly disappointing; despite not truly believing anything interesting could happen, not here and not yet, he was still let down. He would have to patient for a while longer.

He'd gone in search of Terence after the Londoner had failed to return, having waited a good three hours after he'd left. The endless possibilities of what could have happened running through his head.

Actually finding Terence really hadn't been much of a challenge – he'd been immersed in a computer terminal. Attracting his attention was something more of a problem – whatever he'd found was so engrossing that Jack's presence was only acknowledged once he'd physically blocked the screen. Terence started and hastily glanced up.

"Sir! What're you…" at this point he seemed to register how long he'd been at the terminal, probably due to muscle cramp. "I… was going to report sir, after I'd finished here. It's was just that…" Jack held up a hand to stop the flood of excuses, before pointing at the still-glowing computer.

"Just show me what you've found," the ex-time agent requested, snagging a chair with his foot. "And explain to me what's so absorbing as to make _you_ forget all about your superior,"

--- Year: 1776 ---

"Erm, I think you've got the wrong guy?" the Doctor tried, not really putting any faith in his ability to wriggle out of this one.

The person standing behind him gave him another sharp prod in his spine before huffing out a breath directly onto the back of the Timelord's neck, the hot air tickling uncomfortably on his skin.

"Arthur! Stop that!" the Doctor protested automatically, ducking quickly out of the threat zone. And paused, taking the time to stare up at none other then his current four-legged companion. Growling slightly he rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Warn me next time ok?" he grumbled. An unmistakeable laugh dancing in the horse's eyes was his only response and the Doctor realised that Arthur was again just doing his best to lighten the mood. Scanning the narrow alley, the Doctor checked that they were still unobserved before pulling himself nimbly up onto the white horse's back.

"Go on then," he urged the animal "Show me what you found. Oh err, and the less people we encounter, the better."

--- Time: seven days later ---

A week. It had been an entire damn _week_ and the stupid, idiotic quadruped had still not let him forget the whole ridiculous situation. Normally he allowed a bit of ribbing in the times (very rarely) where he made mistakes and ended up having to rely on someone else for a rescue. And also maybe a little in the times where circumstances made him a little… undignified. Or when he'd been caught by the same people twice in the same encounter.

However, in this case all three had happened and Arthur was _not_ about to let him overlook it any time soon. Even without words the horse conveyed his meaning extremely well: the sarcastic humour in his gaze whenever the Doctor forgot himself enough to meet the horse's eyes.

First of all there had been the jail cell incident, which he'd escaped from only due to the timely distraction created by the horse himself. After that the Doctor had been surprised by Arthur in the alleyway – proving that he would have been captured then had the animal been a person out looking for him. Once they'd started off, the pair hadn't even made it out of the town before the authorities had been onto the Doctor. Literally; some energetic new recruit had tackled him out of the saddle, stunning Arthur to frozen stillness.

That had led to an…_incident_ involving a lot of wood, some ropes and the beginnings of a roaring blaze. And due to a lot a fruitless struggling previously he didn't have the slack to free himself. They'd been pretty harsh, considering all he'd done was try to help. Not that they knew that but he did think that tying the ropes tight enough to even cut off _his_ circulation was going a little too far. He'd been just about resigned to giving up this particular regeneration when Arthur had arrived to save his skin _again, _accompanied by the 'real' witches. Read: alien-possessed townsfolk.

It had turned out that the aliens had no real malicious intent and were just playing games. A few choice words had set them straight on his attitude to 'playing' with humans' lives and they had left, after apologising. And subsequent to their providing a neat distraction while Arthur proceeded to take the role of saviour again.

The pair had high-tailed it out of Linz – their presence no longer required as the inhabitants were left fully alone to sort out the mess and were now still in Austria but considerably further north.

This, the Doctor mused grumpily to himself, was no less then the seventh incident in which he'd nearly been burnt alive since arriving in 1758. He was starting to get thoroughly sick of fire and also… it was probably about time to return to France. The king's death was the last occasion he'd been to the country and he had a feeling that something…important was going to happen soon. A niggling feeling in his mind about something that was supposed to happen close to the turn of the century.

Oh well, he had around thirty years to kill before then. Nothing to do but meander back north and wait for trouble to find them. It always did, sooner or later.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

_Ok, you're thoroughly entitled to be annoyed with me. But… y'know if you kill (or maim, or incapacitate me too badly) me then I REALLY wouldn't be able to finish this story._

_Warning: major jumps start soon (in two chapters time, methinks)_

_Again with no promises as to chapters. They will get done, just not any time very soon._


	14. Possibilities

_Sigh, exams and all that jazz. I'm trying though; give me credit for that at least. You may want to read back a few chapters to remember what's happened. Heck, why don't you read the entire story again. Go on, you know you want to… try it… __**do it!**_

_(sings) It's my birthday and I'll post if I want to, post if I want to…_

_Disclaimer: The return of this series to our screens means my return to trying to obtain ownership of it. Needless to say, I'm still unsuccessful – go talk to the BBC to find out why…_

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

**14 – Possibilities**

--- Year: 1794 ---

It hadn't changed. How many years had that screeching groaning strain been his constant companion? It had been called the sound of the universe and rightly so, for it held the possibility of both this universe and the next. The Doctor stared with all the adoration of a dying man at an oasis, his attention snared.

Or at least until Arthur nearly knocked him over. Forcefully, the white horse shoved him back a bit until he was partially hidden amongst the trees. Thinking purely rationally, the Doctor agreed – it really wasn't the best of plans to stand out in the open, practically begging a nasty time-paradox to happen. However for his hearts it had been too long since he'd been this close to a way out, within touching distance of the best ship in existence and he resented the animal pushing him away.

Almost as if they had been waiting for the Doctor to remove himself from sight, the door of the disguised space-time-ship swung open with its characteristic squeal. Four people exited slowly, their eyes travelling all around to take in their surroundings.

"Ian, Barbara, and Susan," the Doctor breathed quietly, more to himself then the horse hovering by his shoulder. Just seeing them in the flesh brought back semi-ancient memories about his first companions and the time they'd spent together. The last figure out of the blue box however was the one he stared at for the longest. If only he could just go up and talk to himself, an understanding and most of all, _Timelord_ ear to listen to his troubles. And he wouldn't object if there was a lift involved too.

The notion was sadly just a thought though – he couldn't distract the past version of himself from the actions he'd remembered taking. Seething with the cosmic unfairness of it all, the Doctor held himself motionless until after the group had disappeared from sight. Knowing that they weren't going to be coming back for a few days he allowed himself a luxury that would get a lot of questions asked if he was observed.

Sliding out from his tree cover, the Doctor stopped dead in front of the familiar blue box exterior. Slowly, almost as if he couldn't believe it was really there, he reached out a hand to touch the fake-wood exterior. Stroking his fingertips over the rough surface he allowed himself to briefly indulge in a slight fantasy. One where he wasn't trapped in the past, one where he could take this TARDIS and leave. The box in front of him rumbled slightly, a groan that he only caught from long experience with the time-ship's way of expressing itself. Acting swiftly he withdrew the out-stretched hand before this ship picked up too much from him. He was feeling so strongly about this that he was broadcasting his emotions to anything receptive enough to pick them up – in this case the TARDIS. It really wouldn't do to get the ship so riled up that the past version of him noticed; changing a timeline was so important and deceptively easy, especially when it was your own personal one.

But, enough of this. He had something to do – a strange unfamiliar instinct was pulling at him, telling him to stay close to his past self. Leaving the TARDIS with several looks of regret he meandered vaguely after the much younger version of himself.

A short distance away was an old farmhouse that struck a chord in the caverns of his memory. He felt a stab of warning whenever he looked at it. Now if he could just recall why exactly he didn't want the other him to go inside… Oh, of course. Give it a while and that building was going to go up in flames, _with him still inside it!_ It was almost as if the universe was obsessed with trying to make him burn. But that wouldn't be for a while yet and so he just had to exercise some of his hard-learned patience.

Making sure that both he and Arthur were securely hidden by the vegetation the Doctor folded his long legs underneath himself as he settled down onto the ground. A huffed breath through his hair told him quite strongly of the horse's opinion. A moment later however there was a warm presence behind him as Arthur joined the Timelord. Taking a deep breath the Doctor leaned backwards onto his friend and made himself comfortable for the interval. The pair had to remain inconspicuous, even when the farmhouse was assaulted by a band of revolutionary soldiers. This really was a troubled period in France's history full of unrest and paranoia, which was part of the reason he'd been avoiding it for a while.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

Arthur's narrow head roughly nuzzled into his side and the Doctor jumped up sharply. Directing a scowl at the thoroughly unrepentant animal he hissed:

"You didn't have to do that! I wasn't even asleep!" Arthur ignored him, focussing instead on something in the direction of the farmhouse. Clearly he thought that it was time for them to do whatever they had come here to do. Cautiously standing up, the Doctor eased himself forwards through the trees until he had an unobstructed view of the building. And the crowds leaving it. The first trails of smoke were curling out of the roof, clear evidence of the fire. Experience with multiple types of incendiaries told him that it wouldn't be long before the tendrils of flame became visible. It also told him that unless he enjoyed being burnt to a crisp he really ought not to go too much closer. Gritting his teeth against the irony of it all the Doctor trudged up the hill. He'd just realised why he'd felt he had to be here, the small boy hovering by the wooden door had sparked a memory, a discrepancy he'd thought he'd forgotten until now.

Arthur snorted loudly at him, saying clearly in his own way what he thought of the Doctor's actions. Thoroughly used to the horse's speech by now the Timelord wearily replied:

"Yes I am going inside. No, you can't do anything to stop me and yes, your help would be appreciated." Arthur whickered gently, this time asking a question.

"I always thought it was a bit strange that a small boy was able to carry my unconscious body out of a burning building by himself. I'd always believed he had help but I never thought that I'd be the one giving it…" By this time he'd drawn close enough for the boy to yell at him.

"Hey, m'sieur! Please help, there's an old man still inside!" the Doctor nodded professionally at him before shooting a:

"Coming?" over his shoulder to the horse and muscling the door open. Immediately a wall of smoke billowed out over the three of them. Caught unawares they all choked a little, backing off from the assault. Glancing sideways at the human the Doctor issued a few short instructions.

"Deep breaths now; shallow once we're in there. Do you have anything to cover your mouth with? No? Shame. Right, quick in and out we're just going to get the man and then leave. Ready?" the boy nodded firmly, closely followed by Arthur. This brought the horse a slightly strange look from the local but it was soon forgotten due to their more important task.

Diving swiftly into the wall of air-borne soot and locking his throat shut the Doctor surged forwards. Working from a more-then-half-forgotten memory he raced through the burning building to find his previous self. Wouldn't that be a time paradox and a half if he failed to save himself? Would it render everything he'd done until then as if he never had existed? It was a scary and sobering thought that all his deeds could be erased simply by harming his younger self.

The design was relatively simple, being true to the era and he was able locate the stairs without any difficulties. As soon as his foot touched the first step he recalled the first time he'd gone up this staircase. It had been all of half an hour and at the same time over 50 years ago, the strange currents of time bending into loops to explain the situation. Casting around once up on the second floor, the Doctor stilled, searching for any trace of a living being. He'd been unconscious when he'd been dragged into the room so it wasn't likely he'd remember which one it was. A thread of sound reached his straining ears:

"…Get me out!" that was him, the memories retuning fondly of the old man, cranky when everything didn't go as planned. Which normally was all the time. Being locked in a burning building was guaranteed to upset the imperious personality. Quickly finding the right door, the tenth incarnation of the Doctor paused until he was certain the younger him had fallen unconscious again.

Throwing his weight against the upstairs door there was an almighty crash as the main roof of the farmhouse caved in. A slightly panicked whinny floated up from downstairs as Arthur had been forced to wait at the bottom of the steps to avoid stressing the floor too much. He was saying, rather forcefully, that they really ought to get a move on.

"Are you…" the boy hacked violently before trying again "Are you sure that's the right door?" he obviously hadn't heard the thin cry which had directed the Timelord. The Doctor spared him a glance before directing his attention back to the still-closed door. Instead of wasting his lungful of air – which he still hadn't had to replenish – with speech he stepped back and gave the door a sharp kick just below the handle.

The wood splintered from the point of impact, allowing it to swing open. There, sprawled on the floor clearly unconscious, was the older-looking form of himself. Unfortunately it appeared that the younger him hadn't learned how to hold his breath and was just going to be heavy deadweight. Although there was an upside to this: the past version wouldn't be awake to notice his rescuer and create a time-paradox.

Carefully the Doctor levered himself under one of the body's arms and hoisted most of the weight onto his shoulders. With a jerk of his head he indicated for the boy to take the other side. Between them they hauled the body down the stairs and draped it over the skittish horse waiting for them. In spite of, or maybe because of, the sheer amount of fires the Doctor had been in; Arthur had become excessively paranoid when trapped in burning buildings. Although thinking about it; the fear wasn't all that unusual to find in any cornered animal – it was a perfectly normal reaction, just possibly exaggerated by constant exposure.

Keeping a hand on Arthur's shoulder to steady the white horse the three rescuers dashed for the exit. Bursting out into the French night they gasped huge breaths of clean air, grateful to be out of the death-trap intact. Spinning around, the Doctor flung his weight against the door of the old farmhouse, slamming it shut before trudging off away from the wrecked building.

A short distance away on a vaguely-remembered hillside the Doctor heaved his past body off Arthur's back and onto the ground in the position that he faintly recalled waking up in.

"Now," he murmured, turning to the boy who had called for their help "Please tell him when he wakes up that it was just you who got him out of the fire. He doesn't need to know about us," the Doctor gestured slightly, indicating the white horse hovering behind him.

The boy frowned "But he will never believe I removed him by myself!"

"Trust me," the Doctor grinned slightly "He'll have a lot more on his mind then a simple question of your strength. I should know… Now! We really ought to be off, goodbye Jean-Pierre!" with a final wave he meandered off into the dark forest in the direction he'd come from, the white horse trailing obediently after him.

"But…" the boy muttered to himself "I never told you my name…"

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

--- Year: 2007 ---

Terence's major discovery was in fact the diary of Jean-Antoinette Poisson. Or, to be specific: a large portion of her diary, several volumes of which had been irretrievably lost. But the thing that had absorbed Terence's attention was the chapter describing the events of 1758 at a ball held at the Palace of Versailles.

Or, to be specific the account in which she described, quite accurately, clockwork droids trying to remove her head from her body. But what had really caught their focus was the description of man and horse arriving _through_ a solid wall. Instantly Jack's mind started calculating possibilities and reasons for how that could have happened – his speculations ranging from a localised dimensional portal to thinking that maybe Madame de Pompadour was on drugs and had imagined the entire incident.

Jack's eyes lit upon a single phrase, during the rendition of the rescue where she'd been quoting the actual dialogue. "…And I'm the Lord of Time," the ex-Time Agent couldn't bring himself the stop staring at that line, mentally refusing to come up with any other explanation then the obvious: The Doctor; it simply had to be – no else had the attitude to merely proclaim this to his captive audience.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

Three days later and Jack and Terence had, after launching various cross-referencing programs and burying themselves in Records Room for uncomfortable amounts of time, come up with a workable solution to the anomalies in the diary's account. This had necessitated teaching Terence about the existence of time travel and the possibilities enclosed therein. Surprisingly enough, the London-born hadn't had too many objections to the revelations he'd been subjected to after swearing various oaths of secrecy. The American wasn't even certain how much Torchwood knew of time travel, apart from of course their data on the Doctor.

Now Jack was back in his office, gazing morosely at the portrait identified as being of the Doctor, pondering what they'd theorised. If they were correct and, talking realistically Jack couldn't think of another plausible hypothesis, then the Doctor was trapped back in the 1700s without any form of leaving that era, namely his TARDIS.

The Doctor, the one who excelled in wriggling out of any and all situations, was hypothetically as trapped as Jack himself. The comparison was not lost on him. Maybe, by the time he met up with the Doctor, assuming the Timelord didn't use up the rest of his regenerations in this misadventure; he might have a little more sympathy for the chaotic alien. Might.

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

--- Year: 5058 ---

_Five days, sixteen hours and two minutes since the incident with the horse and the mirror (relative time)._

It was a prison cell. Rose felt that she ought to be able to recognise one, no matter what the Time Agency insisted on calling it. They'd said something about waiting here 'for their protection' and she had barely held a snort at the level of the _lies_ they were being fed.

After the TARDIS had been anti-grav lifted off the Cheynu's ship, the Agents had moved the blue box to their specially-equipped science laboratory and presumably tried to open it. Unsurprisingly the space-time-ship wasn't going to be cooperative. Rose and Mickey had originally been taken to Ergrer's office as he seemed to be in charge of the operation. Mere minutes later a call had come from the lab and they'd been ushered swiftly down into the heart of the vessel.

In short they'd been asked to explain just what exactly the TARDIS was. Rose had taken the initiative and had blinked innocently "It's a box," she'd said, in her very best childlike tone of ignorance.

Ergrer had ground his teeth together and repressed the urge to shout loudly before rasping out: "How do you _open_ the box then?" Rose had looked puzzled

"It's supposed to open?"

It was entirely possible that she'd overdone the sweet little girl act but it had definitely been enough for the Time Agents to decide that they'd make more progress on their own and that if she knew anything useful then she wasn't telling. Probably they had been so annoyed with her that that was the reason they had shoved her and Mickey down here until they decided to be more cooperative. Which would be never; there was no way _at all_ that Rose was giving them the key to unlocking the most fantastically advanced ship in the universe, there was no telling what they'd do with it. And besides, if he ever found out, the Doctor would throw a major tantrum.

'Here' was in fact not onboard the original cruiser which had docked with the Cheynu. They had somehow managed to travel either to a version of the Time Agency's headquarters or merely a larger ship. She wasn't entirely certain – all she knew was that they'd been moved, presumably to a place with better research facilities to investigate the TARDIS. And with better security to prevent an escape attempt… not that she'd seen any opportunity for one beforehand, but the possibility had just diminished.

Curiously Rose examined what she could see of her surroundings. The cell her and Mickey had been placed in was blank metal with two prison-regulation banks. Clearly some things had not changed over the centuries. The wall where the cell door would normally be was replaced by a completely transparent forcefield, which hummed softly to itself.

This energy shield allowed a much greater view of the corridor and other 'inmates' then would otherwise be possible.

Fascinated now, the blonde scrutinised the occupants of the cells which were in her field of view. The most interesting character she could spot was placed directly opposite them; his leather-brown reptilian skin and four-legged stance proclaiming 'alien' even before you looked at his face. His yellow pupil-less eyes glowed in the dim lighting of the cells and his muzzle-like nose flared constantly, straining to pick up scents in the sterile, man-made ship. Definite fangs curled over his lower lip and Rose found herself looking for dog-like ears to complete the predator look. However, the alien proved contrary to her expectations as she couldn't see any visible ears from her position. At least seven thin ribbon-like tails were in constant writhing motion behind him, curling over him or cracking like whips in obvious irritation and boredom. It was hard to count them precisely when they kept moving; tangling around themselves and the main body of the creature.

This particular alien appeared to be the most active member of the prisoners – the rest were slumped in unmoving heaps in their individual cells whereas this one seemed alert; scanning the area much like Rose herself was. In other circumstances the ex-shop girl could easily see herself and the Doctor running for their lives from creatures like this but instead the current conditions caused pity to rise up inside her. For all she knew that alien was trapped here on crimes as bogus and trumped up as her own and Mickey's. Ergrer had said something about 'concealing required information from the Agency' before he'd left them in the prison block.

She was brought out of her musings when the creature she was examining turned its bright, intelligent eyes to her and opened its mouth. From that fanged maw came a surprisingly soft, cultured baritone voice.

"Excuse me… is it that you are the… you being the one who… coming as you…" the being trailed off, shaking its head with a growl. It seemed to be having trouble getting the words out through its fangs, leading her to the impression that this wasn't its normal language.

Soon it seemed to come to a decision and locked its burning yellow eyes firmly onto her and spoke again:

"Rose?"

O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0

* * *

_Gah! How late am I? …On second thoughts don't answer that one. This is not only short, but late too. The only reason I'm posting is coz a few of my favourite stories updated recently and I was over the moon so I thought: 'I've got a story that might have a few readers wanting to see more'. So yeah reviews welcome! And secondly I am officially no longer not-an-adult so I ought to be more responsible. Yeah, how long is that going to last?_

_Tai_


End file.
